


Black Roses and Hail Mary's

by Levaaah



Series: Freefalling [12]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent Jack Drake, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Batfamily acting like a family, Brainwashing, Confrontations, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian Wayne is a Brat, Dana Winters is a godsent though, Dick Grayson is Batman, Dreamsharing, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, F/M, Gay Tim Drake, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Injuries, Sleep Deprivation, Smut, Sort Of, Tim Drake Deserves Better, Tim Drake Feels, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Vaginal Fingering, mild impregnation kink, timkon mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 65,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Levaaah/pseuds/Levaaah
Summary: I'm afraid of all I amMy mind feels like a foreign landSilence ringing inside my headPlease, carry me, carry me, carry me home“I always knew that Batman would end up killing my father. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I thought that we would have more time.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Freefalling [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631698
Comments: 30
Kudos: 77





	1. You're at war with love

“Today marks two weeks since… Since my father’s death. The family is holding together, but just barely.

Alfred keeps us all centred and on point for the most part. Out of all of us, he is the one that know B—… Alfred knew him the best. Without Alfred I don’t know if we would survive this.

Jason… I still haven’t heard from Jason since we all got the news… Who am I kidding, I had to tell him over the phone because he still thinks he’s not welcome home. He’s taking it pretty badly. I’ve left him several messages, but, maybe, he just needs more space. It’s not like I can force him to do anything he doesn’t want to, and even if I could, I would never take his choice away from him. They didn’t really get to talk much before… Before it happened. And now? Will Jason continue to think that Br—that he wasn’t loved? I worry about his mental state, he’s always taken loss bad. I don’t want him to fall back after all the good work he’s been doing, after getting so much better… I just hope that wherever Jason is, he’s not getting into too much trouble.

Tim is handling it better than I thought. But this past year he’s lost his best friend, and almost his father too. He’s strong, but I’m wondering how long it will take before Tim crumbles under the pressure, he doesn’t lean on anyone anymore. I… worry for him. Especially since the relationship between Jack and Tim is… Strenuous at best. Tim hasn’t told me, but I know that Jack isn’t the best father. Bar the child neglect when Tim was young—before becoming a vigilante, Jack has always seemed more interested in what having a son could do for him. Rather than what he could do for his son… And now that Tim has had Robin taken away from him. I don’t know how much more he can take, or how to help him… God, I need to figure out how to help him.

Dick is… Closing himself off, choosing not to feel instead of talking about it. He’s hurting more than he’s letting on, I know that, he’s trying to become something that he isn’t, something that he thinks we all need. He’s stressed out and honestly, I have no idea what to do beside continue to support him the best I can. He’s taken up the mantle of the Bat, insists that Gotham needs it, that Batman can’t die. And maybe he’s right. Without Batman, Gotham wouldn’t survive. I can’t help but hate it though, I don’t want him to be Batman, it’s not _him_ , and I wonder if… I wonder if it’s the thing that breaks us… He, _ahem,_ he keeps complaining that the cape is too heavy, that it impairs his movement, and that he can’t see out of the cowl properly. There is this prototype material that WE has been developing for a while now, I need to put it through more testing before I can guarantee Dick’s safety, but… I’m getting off topic.

Damian. I don’t know what to say about Damian. He’s not been with us for very long. Talia all but dumped him on the doorsteps of the manor a month ago. He never really got to know… our father. He doesn’t care for anything but training. Dick is trying. But Damian’s violent tendencies are… Even Jason wasn’t this bad when he first started out. I still disagree with the choice of making Damian Robin. It wasn’t Dick’s decision to make. It wasn’t Dick’s to give away. But I can also see how Damian needs change, I don’t _want_ to be his enemy. Yet every attempt I’ve made to bond with him has been met with either anger or indifference. He’s… Damian is ten. But I don’t think he’s ever had a chance of being a child. Even my training, Dick’s, Jason’s, and Tim’s, we all had a chance of being normal. It was never a requirement, never a demand for us to join Batman in his crusade. And I can’t help but hate Talia for it. What kind of mother would willingly do that to her child?

I… I feel like I’m losing them.”

Eleanor presses the button to stop the recording so hard that her thumb hurts. The glare of the screen in front of her is almost blinding as it slowly scrolls through the words she’s just spoken, written down from speech to text. She blinks, and the reflection of herself blinks back. Eleanor wonders sometimes that there is something wrong with her, because she hadn’t felt much of anything since they got the news. Not even when Clark and Diana had showed up in the cave with grief shining in their eyes, and the remains of her father’s cowl and cape held out as an offering to a suffering family. Yet, not a tear had been spilt. She’d gone back to work the next day, pretending to be okay.

Eleanor presses the button again.

“No one outside of the superhero community knows, and even then, the only people that knows are a select few. To Gotham—to the world, nothing has happened. Batman is still alive. To the world, Bru—… Bruce Wayne is still alive. Honestly, I don’t know how long I can keep pretending. Because that _thing_ is not my father, no matter how many plastic surgeries Thomas Elliot has had, he is _not_ my father.”

It’s a small bead of warmth in her chest at first. Then as she keeps staring at the name on the screen it curls out until the warmth becomes agony and _heat_ , and in a rare fit of anger Eleanor lashes out with her fist—almost hitting the screen, instead she redirects it in the last minute and her knuckles feel numb from pain against the metal wall.

She draws in a breath through her teeth.

Then two.

On the third she drops her arm back to her side.

“I always knew that Batman would end up killing my father. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I thought that we would have more time.”

Eleanor draws in another breath, feeling tears finally gather in her eyes. She blinks them away.

“End log.”

She’s not sure who she’s making these things for. It had started by trying to get her thoughts under control, to get her grief under control. Maybe it was just that.

Turning back to the computer, Eleanor encrypts the files heavily enough that it would take Barbara at least half a day to unlock them. No one else needed to know. No one needs to see them.

~

They move out of the manor.

Which is probably for the best anyway. After completing her studies at M.I.T., after Lucius Fox offered her that job at WE as head of the scientific division—sometimes she even wondered why he asked _her_. Yes, Eleanor’s name was on the company, and yes, she did specialize in science and, _yes_ , Wayne Enterprises was the one of the big companies in the leading field of cutting edge technology that improved the world and not just ruined it. _(Unlike LexCorp, but maybe she’s a little biased.)_

But the fact was that Eleanor is twenty-three, she is inexperienced. The board made sure to remind her of that at every given opportunity. Not that the work wasn’t welcomed, burying herself in paperwork and phone calls is a pretty good distraction from everything else. Only downside, of course, is that she’s had to go to the occasional gala, for representation. And without fault, every one of those prestigious galas involved staring at the face of her dead father, worn by someone so despicable that he _should_ be in a cell in Arkham.

So they move out of the manor, too many memories, too many ghosts.

Dick doesn’t waste time, the bunker under the Wayne Foundation building becomes a functioning ‘cave’ by the end of twenty-four hours. With a direct lift up to the penthouse, Eleanor goes with them, despite the fact that Damian tried to kill her the first time they met. She goes with them because Dick asks her to.

_(“You don’t have to do this.” Eleanor said, both of them staring at the glass case with the black cowl and cape memorializes in it._

_“Who else?” Dick replies, he touches the glass with his bare hands, leaving smudges on it that Alfred is going to passive-aggressively complain about while he cleans it later. “Jason’s not an option, he’s too violent. Tim’s… Tim is_ sixteen. _”_

_“That doesn’t mean you have to become him.”_

_Dick smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Gotham can survive without Nightwing. Gotham can’t survive without Batman.”_

_Eleanor can’t argue, because it’s true. No matter how much she doesn’t want it to be. It’s only been a week, yet the criminals have already gotten bolder, even as the signal lights up the night sky. Rumours of Batman’s disappearance is spreading like a wildfire._

_“Ellie.” Dick says, turning and grabbing her hand, his is cool to the touch. From the glass. “I need your support in this. I can’t do it without you.”_

_“You can do anything you set your mind to, Dick Grayson.” Eleanor allows herself a bittersweet smile, reaching up with her free hand to comb some of his hair away from his eyes. “But you’ll always have my support.”)_

She means it when she says it too. Eleanor will always have Dick’s back, she’ll always support him. Although that also means she’d call him on his bullshit, it means that she won’t always agree with him. Like she’s doing now.

Eleanor doesn’t even remember what started the fight.

They’re in the master bedroom of the newly decorated penthouse suite of the Wayne Foundation tower, Eleanor’s pacing in front of the large windows overlooking the Gotham night skyline, Dick’s behind her, she can see his reflection in the window, actively _not_ moving. Like he does when he’s pissed off, and he is pissed off, they’ve been going at it for a while now.

“What do you want me to say?” He questions for the umptieth time. Breaking the tense silence.

She draws in a breath, tries to not get so angry that she’ll say something she doesn’t mean. “That maybe you were _wrong_.”

“I’m not—”

“I wasn’t done.” She snaps, turning around on the spot. Dick clenches his hands so hard his knuckles turn white. “You know I agree with you, Gotham needs a Batman. That’s not my fucking issue.”

“Giving Robin to Damian was the right—”

“It wasn’t your call!”

“It wasn’t my call?!” They’re shouting again.

“Tim—”

“Tim isn’t a sidekick!” Dick snarls, “he’s my—our equal! A partner!”

“You’re a fucking idiot!” She snaps, stalking towards him to jab her finger into his chest. Because that’s so not the point, how couldn’t he _see_ that?! Yet, Dick just keeps glaring at her, keeping infuriatingly still. “First of all, Tim is sixteen. Secondly, he’s just lost his best friend, _and_ a father figure. Thirdly, Robin was his to give away, _if he wanted to give it away._ ”

Eleanor keeps jabbing her finger into his chest at every point she’s making. By the third one, Dick grabs her hand, his fingers closing hard around hers, she rips it out of his grasp.

“You’re a coward.”

“ _I’m_ the coward?!” Dick hisses out, “I’m the one still trying to keep us all together. I’m the one that had to—!”

“No one forced you to—!”

“Who else was going to do it? Huh?! You haven’t been out there since Bruce—.” He stops himself this time, reaching up to cover his eyes with his hand, letting out an unsteady breath.

Eleanor swallows thickly. “Maybe I don’t want it anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.” Dick drops his hand, looking at her like he doesn’t know her.

She drags her fingers through her hair. It’s not like she’s suddenly stopped wanting to help people, like she’s lost the taste of putting criminals behind bars. But it feels so futile, they keep putting these people away that just comes back and tries to up the ante. Tries to outdo their greatest hits. Bruce’s death had only made it even more _real_ , like Jason’s had so long ago. How long did they have? Was she going to watch Dick die too? Jason had come back yes, but… The thought of Dick, blue eyes lifeless and body broken, twisted on the ground. It kept her up at night.

It petrifies her.

“Eleanor?”

“I don’t…” Eleanor shrugs helplessly, then sets her jaw. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not the point.”

“Then what _is_?”

Anger again, curling in her stomach like a hissing snake. “Contrary to popular belief, you’re not all looks with no brain.” She snaps. “So don’t play so fucking dumb.”

Dick can match the worst of them with his temper. He’s usually the voice of reason, the one that people talk to because it comes so naturally to him. Dick is charismatic, friendly. He knows what to say, he knows what to focus on because, really—it’s easier to talk about someone else’s issues rather than focus on your own. He _also_ knows what buttons to push, knows what to say or how to act to really get a fight going.

He scoffs. “Oh? I was an idiot before. Now I’m not stupid? Make up your mind.”

“Why are you so—” She wants to tear her own hair out. “So fucking _infuriating!_ ”

“Damian—”

“Damian is a self-righteous brat, with no ounce of respect for what we do!”

“He’s a _child._ ”

“He tried to kill me, Dick!” It feels like hysteria is bubbling just under the surface, Eleanor takes a breath to try and calm herself, the long slash scar on the back of her forearm itches even though it’s mostly healed. “He tried to kill _Tim._ ”

“Which is why he needs this! He needs to learn, he needs to understand that we operate differently, that we’re not the League of Assassins! He needs Robin.”

“And yet, Robin was not yours to give away!”

Dick stares at her. Opens his mouth, closes it again and clenches his jaw. Looking like he’s eaten something sour, blue eyes cold like steel. Eleanor can kind of guess what he wants to say. _‘Robin was mine first.’_ Or _‘Robin is what my_ mother _called me, I have_ every _right’._ He doesn’t though, instead he turns and walks towards the door to their bedroom.

“You’re just going to leave?” Eleanor says, for a moment completely taken back.

“We’re just going in circles.” Dick replies, he sounds exhausted. “We can talk again once you’ve calmed down.”

Eleanor doesn’t quite know what comes over her, one minute she’s feeling shocked, the next minute it’s white hot anger again, how dare _he_ tell _her_ to calm down. To sit on his high horse and insinuate that she’s just being overly emotional about _their_ issues, like he could dismiss her as a bad-behaving child. Eleanor stalks after him, and maybe a bit too roughly, grabs Dick by the arm to stop him from leaving. Despite the anger she’s feeling, she’s never wanted to hurt him. Whenever they’ve fought, it’s never gotten to the point of actually _physically_ harming each other, _never._

Yet not soon after she’s dizzy as Dick slams her into the wall, it really only knocks the air out of her and the hands on her forearms leaves her within a second, Dick’s eyes wide in alarm and regret.

“Eleanor, I—I didn’t mean to—I’m so—".

She’s kissing him to shut him up, burying her fingers in the silk strands of Dick’s black hair and pulling him roughly to her, Dick doesn’t respond at first. Then she bites his lip _hard_ and he grunts in pain, she even tastes copper on her teeth when she pulls back, and Dick pushes her back into the wall, gentler this time, yet hard enough that she can’t move unless she really makes an effort to break out of his hold. His lips feel hot against her own, it’s messy and angry, Eleanor opens her mouth and their teeth clack together with their tongues.

Dick grabs her thighs and pulls her up, grinding against her harshly when she wraps her legs around his waist.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Dick tells her, Eleanor yanks on his hair hard enough that a couple of strands comes lose and Dick’s responding grunt is both pain and pleasure.

“Then stop.” She dares him, rolling her hips up to meet his. Deep down the rational part of Eleanor knows that having angry sex is a terrible idea. Because _not_ talking about their issues isn’t the best way to deal with it. Eleanor also knows that she wants Dick, _badly._

Yet Dick doesn’t stop, instead he pushes her tank top up and gropes one of her breasts through her black bra. Pinching her nipple hard through the thick fabric, Eleanor muffles her own moan of pain-pleasure by pressing their lips together again. Probing her tongue between Dick’s lips, licking over his teeth. It’s far from gentle, and they are both desperate for it. They part, and Dick’s hot breath fans out across her throat, his fingers doing quick work on the button to her jeans.

Eleanor keeps nipping along his jaw, biting down hard enough to leave marks while Dick’s clever fingers dip underneath her panties and finds her clit within seconds. Eleanor moans, leaning back against the wall with her eyes tightly shut, Dick keeps moving in light circles, while his lips and teeth bite down her throat.

She’s not quite wet enough when he pushes two fingers into her, and the stretching burn boarders on being too painful, Eleanor hisses through her teeth, gripping his hair tighter to pull Dick up so that they can clash their mouths together. She fucks her tongue between his lips in the same pace as his fingers pump in and out of her.

There’s a string of saliva connecting their lips when Eleanor pulls away to gasp and then snarl out, “stop fucking around and fuck me.”

Dick grunts wordlessly, shooting her an impertinent look. “Say please.”

Eleanor tsks. “Richard.”

“Not quite it.” He keeps moving though, pushing her jeans down to her mid-thigh and spinning her around, he brushes her hair over one shoulder as she rubs back against the very prominent hard bulge in his pants. Dick moans low in his throat, rocking against her. Eleanor hears the sound of his zipper being pulled down and then the thick and heavy press of the blunted head of his cock against her, smearing pre-come along the cleft of her ass.

And because he’s such a massive tease, he continues to rub his dick against her for a couple of seconds, pushing but not penetrating and Eleanor lets out a breathless little noise in her impatience. Then Dick’s calloused fingers return to rub her clit at the same time as he pushes into her the breathless noise turns into a strangled moan. Dick’s breath is hot against her neck, licking, nipping, and sucking marks on her flushing skin. His cock so firm inside her, like he’s trying to fuck the breath out of her lungs. Her muscles squeeze around him and Dick's low throaty moan sends another wave of sparks down her spine, Eleanor shivers.

She’s still angry, and that anger is bleeding into passion at the same time as the passion is looping back into anger, it’s driving her mad even when Dick actually starts to move with intent, deep, hard, and punishing thrusts that rock her into his hand still flicking over her clit. Circling and pushing in all the right ways that makes sparks appear behind her eyelids, at this point Eleanor is pretty certain that Dick knows her body better than she does.

_“Fuck.”_ She whines at a particularly hard and angled thrust, leaning her cheek against the cool wall that Dick is fucking her against.

He bites down on her shoulder, then laps at the outline of his teeth. Marking her up like they’re horny teenagers. “Feel so good.” Dick pants in her ear. He does, always has, there has been no one else that makes her feel like he does.

“You—you’re still, _god_ —Dick,” Eleanor reaches back with one hand, tangling it in his black tresses, tugging and pulling to make him moan. “I’m still—.” _Angry, furious, mad._

“Yeah,” Dick grunts, “me too.”

It’s almost an embarrassing short time before she actually feels her orgasm start sneaking up on her. Then Dick thrusts against her again and she’s coming so hard the world kind of whites out for a second, squeezing hard around the hard length inside of her. When she comes back to Eleanor hears herself making small mewling noises as Dick continues to work her through the aftershocks of her orgasm, until she’s sensitive and shaking in his hold.

His rhythm is getting erratic and uneven, and by the way he’s panting in her ear she can tell he’s close. So naturally, she pushes him away. Dick stumbles back half a step, a look of confusion and hurt mixing on his annoyingly pretty face. Eleanor grabs the back of his neck and once again smashes their mouths together in another biting and harsh kiss, gripping his slick cock in her hand and giving him a couple of hard pumps that make him groan against her lips, all the while walking him backwards to their bed. She pushes him down, works her jeans and panties off of her and then straddles his lap, Dick sits up to kiss her again, hands firmly gripping her pale hips, Eleanor _knows_ there’ll be marks there later, and can’t bring herself to care. Then one of his hands worms itself up her torso and pinches her nipple through her bra again, it borders on that same pain-pleasure threshold that makes her shudder and moan.

She sinks down on his cock, swallowing down his moan and licking into his mouth at the delicious stretch of him inside her. Moving her hips against his, being incredibly selfish as she tries to find that perfect angle—and when Eleanor does, she throws her head back and moans. Feeling Dick’s mouth high on her neck again, sucking and biting despite that he knows that she doesn’t like hickeys that she can’t easily cover by a collar. She _knows_ he’s doing it on purpose too, just to piss her off even more.

Eleanor pushes him back into the bed, pressing hard on his still shirt covered chest as she continues to ride him.

“Asshole.” She curses, it doesn’t come out as snappy as she wants it to, and Dick smiles that shark tooth smile at her, his pupils so dilated that it’s only a thin circle of sky blue left in his eyes.

“Yeah, well—,” he starts to breathily mumble back, cutting himself off to moan when she tightens around him. “You’re a bitch.”

Eleanor’s jaw clenches, “at least I— _ah_ I don’t have commitment issues.”

“Only abandonment issues.” Dick bites back, shifting to pull his feet up so that he can get a better angle to thrust up into her. He almost manages to throw her off balance, which might have been hilarious if she still wasn’t so fucking angry with him.

“Shut up.”

He keeps thrusting into her at the same time she pushes back onto him, the obscene sound of flesh slapping together mixing with their moans and grunts. She doesn’t know if she wants to hurt him or kiss him, and decides to do both instead. Leaning down to capture his mouth in a kiss that starts of sort of tender before she bites down on his lower lip and at the same time digs her nails into his pecs. Dick hisses out another sharp breath, his own hands clamping down on her hips.

Pushing herself up and leveraging herself on his chest, she glances down between them, watching Dick’s cock disappear inside her, it’s so obscene, so unbearably hot, Eleanor has to bite her lip to keep from moaning out loud. Then Dick moves his hand to rub his thumb against her clit again and everything mixes into one mess of pleasure. Eleanor’s second orgasm takes her breath away, she can feel sweat dripping down the side of her head as she curls in on herself, not sure if she wants to chase after Dick’s finger or his cock. When she crumbles on top of him, Dick rolls them over and keeps pumping his hips into her, Eleanor whining weakly at the overstimulation before Dick comes with a guttural groan, painting her insides white. He collapses on top of her, panting into her neck as he rides out his orgasm.

For a while everything is silent, no lewd sex sounds, or shouting. They’re high enough up that she can’t even hear the buzz of the busy streets below.

Then before the silence can become unbearable, Dick props himself up on his elbows. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs. “I love you, I don’t want to fight.” And the remains of whatever small anger she had left leaves her in an instant.

Eleanor raises her hand to curl her fingers through his sweat damp hair, trailing the other over the muscled and scarred expanse of his back, feeling sluggish yet warm and cosy, like she normally felt after sex with him. She leans her cheek against his temple, staring up into the ceiling.

“I don’t want to fight either,” she whispers. “I love you too, and I don’t think you’re an idiot, I’m sorry.”

“I love you.” He says again, pushing himself up to meet her eyes. “So much, I—,” he pauses, working his swollen lips between his teeth. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Eleanor leans in to silence him with her lips, not wanting to hear any theories or speculations of what their lives would be like without one another. This time when they kiss it’s soft, a gentle touch of lips against lips, words lost in gentle caresses as hands trail over cooling skin. For a moment it’s just them, as everything besides the feel of Dick’s almost shy fingers cupping her jaw, and the smooth move of his lips over hers, becomes unimportant.

Dick rolls over to his back beside her, sheading the last of his clothes, then helps her out of hers. They go to the bathroom, clean up after themselves, then back to the bed, Eleanor curls against Dick’s side as he pulls the cover over them, holding her tightly against him.

She listens to his heart beating in a familiar, comfortable pattern. Feels his hand move up and down her bare back soothingly before it stops and his breathing evens out. She knows Dick will nap now, and in two or three hours he’ll be back out on the streets dressed in grey and black instead of black and blue. Being weighed down by the cape in every sense of the word. Her heart squeezes painfully in her chest, despite the softly spoken words exchanged she still feels anxious, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

All Eleanor wants to do is to ignore it.

Wish it away. Go back to hers and Dick’s normal.

The arm she’s got wrapped around his chest squeezes a bit tighter, and she shuts her eyes, forcing her mind to blank, forcing herself to not think of what injury he’ll come home with, or other dark and similar thoughts. The blackness of sleep is welcoming when it finally claims her.

When Eleanor wakes up later, the bed is empty and cold. The clock on the bedside table reads one-thirty AM. She presses her nose into Dick’s abandoned pillow, breathing in the scent of that unique fragrance that is only him. Blindly groping for her discarded jeans, she pulls her phone out and unlocks it. Swallowing the pang of longing when she sees the wallpaper of her smiling boyfriend—so carefree, taken months ago while they were celebrating the new year with the Titans, and taps the message icon.

_12:17 Tim: Hey. You said to call anytime. Can we talk?_  
_12:19 Tim: Sorry._  
_12:22 Tim: Actually, it’s nothing. Ignore those texts. And I’m okay. Not hurt or anything._

Frowning, Eleanor tries calling him, only for it to run out and go to voice mail. She tries two more times before worry really starts to set in. Tim didn’t usually go to her to talk, now though… With everything that happened…

She phones him again.

When Tim doesn’t pick up, Eleanor gets out of bed. Pulling her clothes on and making it to the hidden elevator down to the bunker. Maybe it would be a massive breach of privacy to track his phone with the batcomputer, but with Tim’s history of depression, and everything else that had happened in such a short time, Eleanor kind of feels justified as she taps in his number.

Besides, if Tim really didn’t want to be found. It wouldn’t take the computer less than a second to pinpoint his location in San Francisco.

Which begs the question as to _why_ he’s there. The Titans weren’t active, not after Kon-El’s death. Had he really wanted to get away from them that much, he’d rather sleep in the empty Titan’s tower?

Eleanor doesn’t even hear Damian until he appears next to her, dressed in casual clothes, she curses herself in her head for being so distracted. Last time he’d managed to surprise her, Eleanor had ended up with a three inch scar on her right forearm, by blocking the katana he’d tried to skewer Tim with.

“Why are you tracking Drake?” He questions, emerald al Ghul green eyes dancing over the information on the screen.

“Because I need to find him, and he’s not answering his phone.” She replies evenly.

Damian makes that low disapproving noise that she’d come to associate with him. “Good riddance.” He says in that haughty voice of his.

“Don’t wait up.” Eleanor mutters, refusing to take the bait. She gets her jacket and keys to her bike, pulls the helmet over her head. The zeta teleporter in the actual cave would take her straight to the tower and back before the night was over, she just had to make sure Tim was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, this is the next installment of Freefalling! :)  
> Introducing Damian! As a note, I love the little shit, but a little shit he will remain for the time being. Don't worry, Dick's working on it :D
> 
> Kudos and comments feed my soul!  
> Stay safe out there <3


	2. I'm only human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I can fake a smile  
>  I can force a laugh  
> I can dance and play the part  
> If that's what you ask_
> 
> Eleanor doesn’t think she’ll ever apologize for saving someone’s life, but Jack Drake made her want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Child neglect, homophobia.

The Titans tower has never felt cold to her, maybe it was because it was located in San Francisco, California and her brain for some reason thought it was automatically warmer. Even though Gotham and San Francisco basically have the same weather, the latter may get a little more sun. But the point was, Titans tower had never felt cold. It had always been warm, and full of life, because the Titans wasn’t just a group of superheroes that came together once in a while to save the world. The Titans were a group of friends, a family.

Standing in the empty hall with the zeta teleporter slowing down to a soft hum, however, makes Eleanor shudder even with her jacket on. It’s not just the dark that makes it more icy, but also the lack of _noise_. While Eleanor was never a Titan herself, she had assisted them on missions. The old Titans that is, when they were based in New York and Dick was leading them, and the one constant was no matter how many or few of them there were in the Tower, there had always been a relentless stream of noise. Talking, music, cooking, playing video games or running around. You name it, it wasn’t just a base of operations, it was a _home_.

She’s been to _this_ Tower twice before, once to pick Tim up in the batplane for an emergency back in Gotham, and once when it had temporarily been converted to a medical station during one of the numerous alien invasions. Eleanor knows where everything is, and all of Batman’s security override codes, so it’s not an issue to get from one tightly locked up room to the other. She makes it upstairs to the living quarters just to find them spartan. No personal effects, only a bed, a desk, a wardrobe. Every single one of them, even the one with the ‘R’ on the door.

“What are you doing, Tim?” She murmurs into the empty room. She looks at her phone when she can’t find anyone in the kitchen either, the program tracking Tim’s phone is still pointing her at the Tower, so unless he’d gone to San Francisco and _left_ his phone, which—Eleanor pauses.

Would he do that to try and throw anyone looking for him off the trail? There were easier ways of disappearing. Especially for someone as smart as Tim.

Regardless, she wouldn’t know unless she found his phone, and if there was just phone and no Tim then she’d call in backup. Probably Cassie, the young woman had a way of knocking sense into her friends heads, or Bart, if Wally knew where his cousin once removed from the future actually were these days. Since they both knew Tim better than Eleanor did.

There’s a fine layer of dust covering everything as she walks through the empty tower. Every piece of furniture that’s bolted down or not moved has one of those white blankets thrown over them, even the cars still left in the garage. It’s getting ridiculous. She’s searched every part of the tower and can’t find any trace that he was even there to begin with.

Eleanor pulls the phone out of her pocket, unlocking it with a swipe of her thumb and taps on Tim’s name, then she stands still and tries to listen. The tactic is… kind of one of the last ditch effort things, because the Tower itself is gigantic, and some parts of it were sound proofed, she’d have to go—and call him, in every room to have a chance of even hearing the signal, and that’s counting on Tim having the sound on.

She’s running her hand across the wall as she’s silently walking through one of the lower levels, listening out for any sound not of her own making. It’s such a subtle shift at first that Eleanor doesn’t even notice it until she’s already ten feet away from it. She stops, turning to look at the wall as her phone drones on in her hand, call still not connecting. Backtracking to the shift in the wall, Eleanor runs her hand across it again, and—there!

It’s just a very subtle change of texture, unnoticeable unless you knew what you were looking for. The same kind of thing that lined most of the entrances to some of their safe houses in Gotham, and that opens the Bunker under the Wayne Foundation tower. She traces her fingers over it, mapping out the scanner, not pressing down with her hand. Because doing that would set it off and if it didn’t recognize her it would probably activate some sort of defence, and while none of the defences in any building payed for by Batman was lethal, Eleanor didn’t exactly fancy being shocked unconscious, or drugged. Whichever it was.

She finds the panel to unlock it soon enough, scratching the almost invisible seam open with her nails and types in the override on the mechanical number pad hidden there. Only nothing happens. Which is weird, and deliberate. There wasn’t many locks that didn’t respond to that particular code, the one that Batman was very fond of hiding in everything built involving their second lives. Eleanor’s fairly certain it worked on stuff that wasn’t built by Wayne money too.

_(She wasn’t supposed to know it, but who’s going to stop her now.)_

“Okay, Tim.” She murmurs out loud again, “you’re clearly hiding _something_.”

Eleanor pauses. It’s not like she wants to root around in whatever Tim’s hiding so blatantly, should she just leave him alone? But then there’s that nagging voice in her head that tells her that she really shouldn’t. That Tim was balancing on a knifes edge and needed someone to help catch him. She groans, rubbing at her face and stares at the wall.

The thing was, with these hidden doors there is always a way of opening them, a safety measure built in to the very blueprints. Short circuiting it wouldn’t work—it needed electricity to open. But causing it to think there was a malfunction? That could work.

Eleanor pries the rest of the panel off, reaching into the hidden pocket of her jacket for the tools that she always keeps there, and crouches down so she can see properly. It’s awkward because she only has her phones light—Eleanor didn’t exactly think that she’d need her utility belt, okay, and the ‘tools’ is more of a hard plastic lock pick. At least it wasn’t metal, because she did not want any kind of backfiring electric shock while she’s essentially pressing a fork into a light socket.

Bruce must be rolling in his grave.

Then the wall shifts and clicks open, Eleanor withdraws her tools, reattaches the loose panel and peers into the dark stairs leading further down. Had this been in the blueprints of the original Tower too? Or a new edition? And how far down does it go?

“One way to find out.” She says quietly to herself again, and start descending the stairs.

As it turns out, not very far.

And by the end of it there’s another door that isn’t going to take too long to get through, as it’s open. But thick, like a vault door to a bank, which just begs the question as to _why_ is there a heavily secured door at the bottom of a stairwell that doesn’t exist on the original blueprints?

She pulls on it open and the heavy steel moves without a sound, and for the first time since she came to this tower, Eleanor sees light.

Green light, weird, but at least it’s not Lazarus green.

That would be extremely concerning.

What _is_ concerning though is the giant tubes, _test_ tubes. Computer equipment, Eleanor swears she sees a LexCorp logo on one of them, and yeah, that’s definitely a Cadmus logo. Her mind immediately denies it. No way Tim was involved in this right? But then she spots the jacket, the leather one with spikes that screams the nineties, and the blue and red Kryptonian symbolled uniform hung up in a glass case like the ones back at the Batcave.

Eleanor’s heart breaks. _God,_ Tim, what have you done?

There’s a smashed tube further in, glass still littering the floor with whatever liquid was in it dried up, yet left a distinct green hue on the steel below it. One of the computer screens flashes _‘CLONING ATTEMPT ONE HUNDRED INITIATED.’_ A task bar shows thirty percent completed on stage one. Another screen has Lex Luthor’s face on it, next to Kon-El’s. The last screen is a picture of Clark, of Superman. She doesn’t even realise her hand is over her mouth before a small shocked noise escapes her.

This is what he’s been doing all this time?

Trying to re-create his best friend?

“You shouldn’t be here.” Tim says from behind her, Eleanor doesn’t bother hiding her surprise when she turns around and sees the carefully crafted blank look on his face.

The uniform he’s wearing is the one he’d used when he’d been badly burnt, the one with a cowl. It makes him look older than he actually is. It also looks too heavy, like it’s wearing him down even with the cowl lowered.

“Tim.” Eleanor starts, then stops, because what is she supposed to say? She can put the pieces together, there’s absolutely no denying what he’s trying to do.

So she does the only thing she can think of and takes a step closer and pulls him into a tight hug.

Tim doesn’t fight her, doesn’t hug back either, the only indication that he’s reacting at all is the small surprised inhale. Like he’s not used to anyone touching him with such care, and that thought breaks her heart all over again. Eleanor has always known that Tim’s been cagey with physical affection, remnants of neglectful parents that thought it was a good idea to leave a nine year old home alone with a nanny coming over a couple of hours each day. She’d been kind of the same before Dick had conditioned her into thinking that it was okay to need a hug, or a hand on the shoulder, or just someone sitting close to you.

Eleanor holds him tighter because of it, combs her fingers through his hair. Then feels Tim hesitantly return the hug.

“You need a haircut, baby bird.” She murmurs, and hears the small sniffling wet laugh against her shoulder.

“I kind of like it.” Tim says. “Though cowl-hair is the worst.”

The soft whirr and clicks of the equipment is the only noise for a long time as they stand still in the middle of the small dug out space. She holds on to him like their lives depend on it, keeping up the soothing motions with her hand over his caped back and another holding the back of his head.

“I messed up.” He says, muffled by her jacket. “I—, I really messed up, Eleanor.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Eleanor asks, releasing him only when she feels Tim start to pull away and ducks his head, wipes the tears away from his eyes. “All of this Tim, it’s… this is a lot.”

“Oh, uhm.” Tim clears his throat. “I wasn’t… I mean after Cassie found out I wasn’t going to do anything else. But then, uh… Other things happened and I guess I… relapsed?”

He looks around, then stares at the computer behind her.

Other things.

Bruce.

Robin.

“What are you even doing here?” He asks then, the small piece of vulnerability fading away to a blank mask that she recognises and hates that he has to use outside of their night time work.

“You texted me, remember?”

Tim blinks, mouth parting slightly. “Right. But I told you I was okay.”

_You’re clearly not._ Almost slips past Eleanor’s tongue. Instead she shrugs. “I can’t check up on my brother?”

It might be the first time she’s referred to Tim as her brother to his face. In her mind he’s been her brother for a while now, just like Jason is.

Judging by the brief look of shock on his face it probably is the first time. Tim quickly schools his expression though, clearing his throat.

“Right.” He says, still sounding a little dubious. “I’m okay though, so… uhm. You can go back home.”

“Tim.” Eleanor tries, yet Tim cuts her off with a wave of his hand, a smile as fake as the Gotham Socialite appearing on his face.

“I’m okay.” He says again, and Eleanor briefly wonders if he’s going to start believing himself soon if he keeps repeating it. “Really.”

She watches him walk past her, tapping lightly on the computer, making himself look busy.

“It’s okay _not_ to be okay, you know.”

Tim doesn’t respond at first, his fingers keep dancing over the keyboard, pressing harder and harder until the presses slow down into a stop. His shoulders rise almost up to his ears and in the empty silence, the soft _‘plick’_ of a droplet hitting metal is so loud it’s almost deafening.

“It’s okay not to be.” Eleanor repeats. “You’re allowed to be sad, and angry, you’re allowed to be furious, Tim. You’re allowed to _feel_.”

Tim’s breathing turns ragged as he stands by the desk, back still facing her. Then he holds his breath for a couple of seconds.

“I don’t have time for that.” He replies, allowing himself to breathe again, his voice carefully void of any emotion. “There’s too much work to do.”

Work.

It sounds familiar, throwing yourself in cases, going back over old, cold ones. Distracting yourself so that you just don’t have to deal with what you actually need to deal with. Compartmentalizing.

“You should go back to Gotham.” Tim says.

Eleanor closes her eyes, drags a deep breath in through her nose. Worrying the words she’s trying to say over in her head, testing out sentences. Attempting to find that one phrase that will make it better, that will allow Tim to open up, to make him understand that she’s not Janet or Jack Drake. Endlessly trying to mould Tim to their version of perfection. That she’s not Bruce, so lost in his own crusade that he doesn’t notice those around him.

“I hate Batman.” She says, even though it’s not what she means to. Tim’s head jerks in her direction, dark Pacific coloured eyes wide in surprise. Eleanor clears her throat. “I hate Batman.” She repeats.

She means it too, even if it’s a deep and darkly supressed thought. Part of her has always hated the symbol, because as much hope that Batman brought to the people of Gotham, as much faith people had that Batman was the answer to all of their questions, that one day, Gotham would be free of corruption. Batman was the reason Jason died. Batman was the reason Stephanie had been tortured by Black Mask. Batman was the reason Bruce died.

“Dick isn’t—”

“No, no that’s—” Eleanor interrupts, shaking her head. “No. I don’t mean Dick. Or Bruce.” Both of them pretend not to notice the slight hitch in her breath at the second name.

“You mean… what it stands for?”

“Partially. It’s…” She rubs her forehead with the back of her hand. “It’s difficult to explain. I want to be able to blame all the bad things that has happened, but… Not all of it is Batman’s fault.”

She leans back against the metal wall behind her. Sorting through her own thoughts.

“I’m angry at Bruce too. Maybe it’s mixing, the anger and the hate. Then, you know I feel bad for it because dad’s _dead_ and I’m mad?” She huffs. “But that’s emotions right? Just a complicated mess that some are better at handling.”

“You don’t think you’re good at it? Handling it, I mean.” Tim peers at her with mild curiosity. Which is a hell of a lot better than that blank look he keeps reverting to.

“Hell no.” She barks out a laugh without any humour. “I’m bat-affiliated.” Eleanor continues, “I just pretend I’m good at it and everyone buys it, because we all got acting classes from Alfred.”

Tim walks over, leans against the wall next to her, then sinks to the ground, drawing his knees up. Eleanor mimics the position, closing her eyes as she leans her head back against the steel.

“Pretty good classes though.” He says after a moment of silence. Eleanor hums in agreement, the corners of her lips twitching in a small smile.

“When I left Gotham I didn’t really plan coming here and… restarting the—restarting all of this.” Tim admits.

“You just wanted to leave?”

“Partially.” Tim says, the pause is long enough for her to open her eyes and tilt her head to glance at him. He’s wringing his gloves together, staring at the motion. “I came out to my dad.” He whispers, looking like he’s swallowing a lump. Tim clears his throat. “He—uhm, he didn’t…”

The instinctual reaction is anger.

“I should have known better.” Tim continues in a monotone voice. “I knew he’s always had a traditional sense of how things should work. I shouldn’t have said anything. I was just trying to provoke him.”

The second, rational thought is to pull Tim into her arms again and tell him that there’s nothing wrong with him, that it doesn’t matter who he loves as long as he’s happy. That _Tim_ doesn’t have to hide because it’s not a choice, it’s _who he is._

Eleanor licks her teeth. “Thank you for telling me.” When Tim doesn’t say anything she continues. “Your dad… Did he hurt you?”

“You mean did he hit me?” Tim asks airily. “No. I just thought…” He sighs heavily. “I thought, after everything. When he found out I was… used to be, Robin.” It’s like a floodgate opening. Once he starts talking it just keeps flowing. “I thought we’d gotten closer. I thought that he understood, maybe just a little you know? I thought, he’s my dad, he’s supposed to love me no matter what, right? I told him I wasn’t Robin anymore and he just said ‘good’, and I got so mad that I just blurted out ‘by the way dad, I’m also gay.’ And he stared at me like I’m—like I wasn’t even his son, and told me to get out. So, I just, I just left.”

Tears are streaming down his face again, and Tim doesn’t even seem to notice.

“I walked out, and I didn’t know where to go.”

“And you texted me.”

Tim hums. “I didn’t want to bother you, so I came here instead and… Sometimes I think it would have been better if Boomerang had actually killed him you know?” Tim finally meets her gaze, “at least he’d stop disappointing me.”

Eleanor doesn’t think she’ll ever apologize for saving someone’s life, but Jack Drake made her want to.

She stretches her arms out in offering, and Tim barely hesitates before he shuffles closer and leans into it.

He swallows thickly. “What kind of kid wishes his dad dead?”

_Yeah_ , Eleanor thinks, remembering how _angry-mad-furious_ she’d been when Jason died. She combs her fingers through Tim’s dark tresses, _what kind of kid, indeed._

“I’ve got you.” She whispers, pressing her nose to his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phobia 
> 
> _noun_  
>  pho·bia | \ ˈfō-bē-ə \ 
> 
> "an exaggerated usually inexplicable and illogical fear of a particular object, class of objects, or situation"
> 
> Anyone else think that homophobia is a stupid way of phrasing things? Like you're _scared_ of gay people? For real? 
> 
> smh


	3. Shine a light on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Light will lead the way, will set you free_   
>  _'Cause I'm only looking for a little peace_
> 
> “We’ve literally been to space, a road trips seems a bit… mundane.”

“A road trip?”

Tim is staring at her as if she’s crazy.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got cases that needs doing and you’ve got, you know. An actual job, at Wayne Enterprises?”

She waves her hand. “I’ll call Lucius, tell him I’ll need a couple of days off.”

“It’s cross country.” Tim deadpans. “That’s four days. At least.”

“We can make a week out of it.” She turns away from the car, looking at Tim. “Come on Tim, it’ll be fun.”

He’s still staring at her like she’s lost her mind. “There’s a perfectly good teleporter in this tower. Don’t you want to get back quickly?”

“Not really.” Eleanor turns away, trying not to fidget at the inquisitive gaze Tim’s studying her with. She’s not avoiding. Really. Even though both her and Dick had apologized to each other earlier, it had still felt like it was more of a placating thing than actually being sorry. Like Dick was hearing her but not _listening._ Eleanor wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance of getting back to another fight.

Tim crosses his arms over his chest.

“Look, it’ll be a couple of days, maybe a week at most. We’ll travel as normal people, no missions, or cases… Think of it as a vacation. We’re both wound too tight, and we deserve to… you know.” Eleanor gestures with her hand.

“Be normal?”

She shrugs. “Isn’t road trips something everyone does at some point in their lives?”

“We’ve literally been to space, a road trips seems a bit… mundane.”

Eleanor shrugs again, then feels a smirk on her lips. “I bet you can’t do it.”

“Do what?” Tim frowns at her.

“Live a week without any cases.”

Maybe it a bit of a low blow, but she’s said it before, and she’ll probably end up saying it again. The entire family are highly competitive. And dares? That’s akin to what a red flag is to a bull.

He keeps staring at her. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Is it working?”

Tim sighs, and Eleanor lets out a small satisfied noise, gesturing to the cars in the garage. “Pick one.”

Surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly, Tim doesn’t have any civilian clothes with him _(“I didn’t think I needed it!”)_ so Eleanor, after making sure—and double sure that Tim won’t take off at the earliest opportunity, goes down to the city and buys him some clothes. A comfortable hoodie and a pair of jeans that she’s fairly sure she’s seen Tim in before, and a pair of trainers. Then it’s back to the tower and with a quick change, putting his gear in a secure lockbox they all normally use when they travel, after that they both jump into the black tesla and are off to downtown San Francisco.

“I was thinking,” Eleanor starts as they stop by a traffic light. “Maybe some food before we left town.”

“And a road map maybe?” Tim says wryly, looking out the window and the people walking past, on their way home after a night out.

“Sure, a road map.” She agrees. “Know a place that’s open this late?”

“There is one, take the next left.” He orders and Eleanor complies. After another fifteen minutes of navigating through the city—she’s glad that at least Tim knows where they’re going because Eleanor’s never spent any time in downtown San Francisco, and the place that Tim points out is a small none-descript Chinese place.

“Bart’s the one that found it.” Tim says as they exit the car.

Eleanor snorts. “You should never trust speedsters when it comes to food, they’ll eat _anything_.”

They pass the street and Eleanor’s happy to see the slight curve of a smile on Tim’s lips.

“And I mean _anything_ ,” she continues. “Dick once used double the amount of salt in a casserole recipe he made, and I swear it was so salty none of us could eat it. Then later, Wally showed up and ate the whole thing. No complaints.”

Tim laughs. “Bart’s done the same, Cassie made cookies once, following Alfred’s recipe and I honestly don’t know how she managed to mess up so badly, but the cookies came out so dry she suggested I use them as birdarangs. Bart ate them before we could test it.” The smile drops from his face, he clears his throat. “Kon couldn’t stop laughing.”

She wants to put a hand on his shoulder, or give him a reassuring squeeze, yet Tim doesn’t let her reply, instead he simply pushes past the door into the welcoming warmth of the restaurant. Eleanor follows before the door can shut completely, trying to not let pity show. Knowing from experience how annoying and frustrating it was to see it on someone else’s face. When she gets inside a woman’s got a hand wrapped around Tim’s, holding it tightly with a wide grin on her face. She’s speaking Mandarin, and when Eleanor stops by Tim’s side, their eyes meet and Tim offers a small smile and replies flawlessly in the same language, Eleanor does hear her name in there.

“Mandarin?” She asks.

“One of the languages I decided on when Bruce asked.” Tim replies as they’re led to a table. “Since he was the only other one that knew it, and well, my route led through China Town.”

“Makes sense,” Eleanor nods. “I decided on Spanish, most spoken language in the world and all.”

They’re seated, given menus and before Eleanor can think of anything to say the drinks are delivered with another couple of words exchanged in Mandarin. Eleanor’s good at language, she likes learning, and though she recognize some words, she’s not fluent. Tim seems ridiculously at ease though, smiling and laughing, it’s familiar, it reminds her of…

“Hey, do you remember the first time we met?”

Tim’s eyes leaves the retreating waitress and flickers back to meet hers with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah? In the cave?”

“No,” Eleanor shakes her head. “No, it was before that. You were six, I think, maybe seven?”

Tim frowns.

“It was a gala, some sort of fundraiser, I was around thirteen. I think it might have been your very first one.”

“I don’t remember it.” Tim says, idly drawing on the condensation on the glass.

“Honestly when we met at the cave I didn’t either. But then again I kind block out those things.”

At that Tim’s lips curls up in a wry smile. “Not a fan of being paraded around Gotham’s elite?”

“Oh you know, once I was old enough to drink the champagne it wasn’t all that bad.” Eleanor says, shaking her head.

“So what made you remember it?”

She bites the tip of her tongue. “Fake smiles.” When Tim eyes with a bit of a confused look, Eleanor continues. “Your parents where there. I remember them because it wasn’t often that the Drakes were in the city for something like a charity event. I’d seen them before at that point, just never with you there too. They kept pushing you to talk to me.”

“Wait, really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

Eleanor raises an eyebrow, waits for it to click, and it doesn’t take long.

Tim makes a face, “really? That’s… uh…”

“Disturbing?”

“ _Very._ ” Tim says, shaking his head, taking a sip of his drink.

“I remember thinking that your mother wasn’t being very subtle, but you were determined not to let them down, so you did what they asked, and I gained a shadow for the rest of the event.”

“Sorry.” Tim apologizes, Eleanor shakes her head.

“It happened years ago.”

“Still…” He pauses, picking at the napkin. “Kind of embarrassing that my mom was trying to set me up with you when I was _six_.”

“It’s usually how things work in our circles.”

Which doesn’t exactly excuse it, but it sort of normalised it. She knew that some wealthy families—in Gotham, still promised their children together for alliances, no matter how outdated the idea is.

“There’s a seven year gap between us.” Tim points out.

“And not to mention I’m not a man.” Eleanor adds and Tim smiles a bit, ducking his head.

“I didn’t think…” He shakes his head. “No I mean I didn’t think you’d have an issue with it, but I didn’t know you were going to be…” Tim’s face scrounges up like he’s bitten something sour. “I don’t know.”

“Dick’s bi, and has had male partners before.” She’s also fairly certain that everyone and their dog knew how much she loved him, _every_ part of him.

“Sure,” he nods. “But he’s more attracted to women than men.”

Eleanor reaches across the table, puts her hand over Tim’s fidgeting ones. “My opinion about you hasn’t changed because of this Tim, you’re still you. The slightly crazy, over-working dork that you are.”

Tim swallows, smiling hesitantly. “Crazy, huh?”

“We dress up in spandex and chase bad guys in various costumes,” Eleanor shrugs. “Crazy is kind of part of the job description.”

That draws a scoff out of Tim. “It’s _not_ spandex.” He says, a playful glint in his eyes.

Their food is delivered not soon after and they end up eating in silence for a while, it is surprisingly good too.

Tim eyes her for a second and Eleanor raises a questioning eyebrow. “I was just thinking,” he starts. “What did Bruce think of it? My mom pushing me to get to know you, I mean.”

“I didn’t mention it to him,” Eleanor admits.

“Why not?”

“Because you reminded me of me.” She tilts her head. “At first I was kind of annoyed, yeah. I didn’t want to be there to begin with. Dick had managed to weasel out of it, but I apparently _had_ to go _._ But it was kind of fun once we actually talked a bit. You were so awkward.”

“Oh God, what did I do?”

“Nothing embarrassing.” Eleanor chuckles. “I don’t remember all of it, but I do remember you telling me that you liked photography. You still do, right?”

“Yeah.” Tim nods. “I haven’t touched my camera in… like a really long while though, it’s still ho—... It’s still at my dad’s place.”

Eleanor hums. “We should get you a camera for our trip then, go visit famous landmarks and things like that.”

“Landmarks?” Tim asks. Looking relieved that she doesn’t comment on the slip.

“Tourist attractions! Like, I don’t know, the Grand Canyon? Or the Niagara Falls? Or oh, Yellowstone?”

“You want to go to Wyoming? That’s way, _way_ out of the way.”

“Okay so maybe not Yellowstone, but the Grand Canyon is in Arizona, that’s doable.”

“It’s a hole in the ground,” Tim says, sounding amused as he picks at his spring rolls. “Granted, a pretty big hole in the ground, but still.”

“I’ve never been, and I’ll bet you haven’t either.”

“Flown over it.”

“ _Really_ not the same thing, baby bird.”

Tim smiles a genuine soft smile that makes Eleanor smile back. “Okay. Arizona, the grand hole in the ground.”

“Smartass.” She says fondly. Eleanor sips her drink, allowing them to fall back into comfortable silence as she tries to subtly study him. Tim’s hair has grown long, past his eyes. Dark blue eyes that look worn from stress and pain, older and wiser than a sixteen-year-old should be. His pale skin does little to hide the faint circles under his eyes, though Eleanor suspects that he’s tried to cover it with make-up. And when he thinks she’s not looking, he gets this sad look about him, like he’s lost in his head.

It’s a stark difference from the kid she met when she came back to Gotham during No Man’s Land. He’d been reserved and cautious yes. But not sad. There’d been an energy about him, Tim had loved what he did, solving crimes, putting bad guys behind bars. Even working with Wayne Enterprises, making sure that the funds they needed went to the right place, Tim had seemed content, enjoying being needed.

She wonders if he still likes it, or if he does it because he feels morally obligated to.

“Can I ask you something?” Eleanor says, putting down her chopsticks next to the empty plate. “About your sexuality.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “I guess?”

“You don’t have to answer it, obviously, just tell me to back off if you feel uncomfortable.”

Tim gives another uncertain nod.

“How long have you known?”

“Uhm… I don’t really know, it wasn’t like I had a sudden realization or something, I mean… I always found boys cute. You know?” Tim murmurs, blushing a bit.

Eleanor nods, hesitates for just a second, “and… Stephanie?”

“I…” Tim’s shoulders drop. “I love Steph, just not—just not romantically. She—we, I mean, talked about it before she went to Africa with Doc Thompkins.”

“She knew before you did?”

“No… more like, she called me out on it and in true Steph fashion told me to get my shit together.”

“Hah, that does sound like her.” Eleanor smiles. “Did you talk to her about Conner?”

Tim looks away, staring intently at the picked apart napkin in front of him. “A little.”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Did Steph know you were in love with him?”

Tim’s whole body locks up, lips pressing together so hard that they turn white. He swallows, once, twice. Takes a breath. Three seconds pass, and he exhales. He repeats it several times.

“I don’t—I mean I wasn’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” She tries, leaning forward. “Breathe, Tim, I’m sorry, we can talk about something else.”

Tim turns away, staring at the painting on the wall with cold unmoving eyes. It depicts a small village in pink cherry blossom bloom, it looks quite out of place in the otherwise red and gold décor. Even with the garish fake golden frame.

“I never—.” Tim starts, stopping abruptly. Another deep inhale. “I never told him, he was with Cassie. _And_ my best friend. How…? How was I supposed to—I couldn’t do that to him, to _them_.” He looks up at her, a pained expression on his face. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Hardly.” Eleanor says, shaking her head. “But you tried to clone him a hundred times, Tim. That’s not something someone does unless they really love someone.”

“I guess not.” He snaps one of the chopsticks in two. “I never had the courage to tell him. I don’t know if I would even if I did get the chance. Hell, I don’t know if he ever saw guys like that. Not knowing—it’s… I feel both relieved and terrible about it.”

“Yeah,” Eleanor murmurs. “I can understand that.”

“Do you… keep secrets from Dick?”

“Yes.” Eleanor replies, feeling guilt coil in her stomach. Only the one, but it still made her queasy to think about, especially since it had been so long since it happened.

Surprise colours Tim’s eyes, and for a second, curiosity. Then he sighs. “Doesn’t it make you feel bad?”

“All the time.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I think about the consequences, and I don’t want to put that on him. It’s… better for him not to know, he’d only feel guilty.” Eleanor swallows. “Or at least that’s what I tell myself.”

For a second it looks like Tim’s going to ask her what it is—and quite honestly, Eleanor would tell him. She’d kept it buried for years now, not even Jason—Jason who would understand, who would tell her that what she did was a good thing, knew.

“Does the guilt go away?”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, because in truth every time she’s reminded about what she did—or rather didn’t, that knot in her stomach got worse. Eleanor forces a smile on her lips. “How about we crash at a motel, I’m beat, and you look like you need a good couple of hours sleep as well. We can plan our route in the morning?”

Tim doesn’t say anything for a while, then he nods, and goes to pay. When they exit the place into the cold of the night, he pauses by the car.

“He’d forgive you.” He says. “Dick, I mean. He’d forgive you for anything.”

“I know.” Eleanor murmurs opening the car door. _But maybe he shouldn’t._ The words are reassuring anyway. “Thanks.” She says, once they’re both sat in the car.

“What for?”

Eleanor chuckles, reaching out to ruffle his hair despite the attempt Tim makes of batting her hand away.

When she pulls out of the parking lot, there’s a small smile present on Tim’s face, and he looks less exhausted than he did a couple of hours ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all angst all the time!  
> Tim is one of my favourite character and he really doesn't get enough shine in recent stuff, I hope I do him justice!  
> Thanks for reading <3


	4. You know me by heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We will be a work of art_   
>  _a monument in every park_
> 
> “Our song.” Eleanor says.  
> “Do you remember the first time we heard it?”

Eleanor dreams of a beach, sandy white for as long as the eye can see. The ocean is a never-ending turquoise and the waves lap gently at the shore, the sky, a pearlescent azure, meet the water at the horizon quite beautifully. There are birds tweeting a soothing tune in the brushes behind her and it’s warm, but the soothing breeze from the water makes the blazing sun in the cloudless sky bearable. It looks like something out of a painting, magnificent, almost ethereal. Too perfect. The silk of her dress flows in the wind, which is a bit strange as it isn’t that strong. But the dream is pleasant enough and the silk actually feels nice over her smooth pale skin.

With bare feet she walks down the beach, she’s not sure where she is or where she’s going. Nothing around her is recognizable, but she feels calm, like she’s been here before. It’s familiar, soothing almost. Like the one place in the whole world where she can relax. No masks, or responsibilities, nor any family that demand pieces of her. That dig into her soul and wears her down to her core.

She stops, her toes digging into the warm sand, a frown marring her face. That wasn’t right. She never thought that her family was a burden. Not at all. She—the jolt of cool water over her toes make her look down as it washes over her feet, lapping gently over her ankles. The dress gets caught in a wave, staining the white fabric a dark grey, and when she looks up again there are clouds in the sky. Heavy imposing clouds and the smell of ozone gets stronger the longer she stares at it. Eleanor moves further into the water, no longer a calm turquoise, instead it’s a broiling blue-grey, like a prelude to a storm. It’s up to her hips and she can’t stop moving, every step echoing a strike of brilliant lightning in the sky.

Her breath quickens, her heart beats fast in her chest, panic starts to set in. She doesn’t want to be here anymore, she needs to get out. It’s not safe, something is _terribly_ wrong. Eleanor struggles, pushing with her arms as her feet are forced to take another step. Water pushes over her shoulders, to her neck, splashing in her face and making her gasp and splutter for breath. Stop. _Stop. Please stop._

A warm hand encapsulates hers, pulling her away from the depths, to the safety of the shore. She looks up and sees azure eyes peering back at her, accompanied by a warm smile and sun-kissed cheeks.

“Hi.” He says, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

“Hi.” Eleanor breathes back, her heart slowing. She’s safe, because Dick would always be there to catch her, like she catches him.

“Dance with me.” He murmurs, wrapping a bare arm around her waist. He pulls her to his chest, gripping her hand in his as they slowly move in circles over the sand. There is music playing from somewhere, a gentle, familiar tune. “ _You’ll love me forever, at least another thousand years.”_ Dick sings.

“Our song.” Eleanor says, and Dick’s smile is wide enough to show his teeth.

“Do you remember the first time we heard it?”

Eleanor rests her head against his chest, listening to the rhythmical beat of his heart. “In the car.” She whispers. “By the beach, we watched the sun set.”

The world shifts, the sky—now void of clouds, speeds up, until the sun sets into beautiful soft pinks, oranges, and blues. The ocean mirrors it, glittering calmly back at her.

_“We’re opposite, crazy but we just make sense.”_ Dick continues softly, his voice a gentle and light baritone.

“I wish this was real.” She says, humming along with the song. Dick laughs brilliantly, pulling back to spin her around, and Eleanor feels a resounding laugh leave her chest. She feels so light, like nothing at all can touch her.

“Can you feel this?” Dick asks, cupping her cheek, his hand is warm against her skin, and the callouses on his fingers tickle her when she leans into it. “What about this?” He asks softly, his other hand slipping down over her bared shoulder blades, over unmarred skin. “Doesn’t that feel real?”

“It feels real.” She whispers, dragging her own fingers up Dick’s arms, no bumps from bullets or knifes hinder her path. Not even the one he’d gotten when he was ten, playing in the manor garden. “But something isn’t right.”

_It’s a dream, it doesn’t matter._ “You don’t have any scars.”

Dick smiles wryly. “Should I?”

“In our line of work, yes.” _Why does it matter anyway._ Eleanor blinks, she can smell ozone again. Dick pulls her closer.

“I’m an acrobat, babe.” His lips brush over her forehead. “I pull muscles sometimes, I don’t get stabbed by the trapeze sticks.”

“Right.” Why had she thought differently?

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks gently, the blue of his eyes flickering over her face in gentle worry.

“I…” There was something, wasn’t it? Something she had to do, or remember, something important. “I guess I just forgot.”

The water looks uninviting when she looks at it again, trying to draw her in, to drown her.

Dick lifts her left hand up, kissing the tip of her ring finger. “Hope you didn’t forget this.”

It’s a platinum ring with small intricate diamonds lining up to a large sky blue topaz, it’s a comforting weight on her finger. Eleanor looks from it up to Dick, feeling a bit confused. “We’re engaged?”

Dick’s face scrounges up with concern. “We’re _married_ , Mrs Wayne-Grayson. Are you sure you’re alright?” He laces their fingers together, the smooth twin platinum bands click together when he does.

“Oh,” Eleanor says, and Dick looks really worried for a moment, so she offers him a smile, trying to ignore that nagging voice in her head that tells her something’s _off_. “Of course we are.” Even though that small part of her brain says that she’d never hyphen their last names.

“C’mon, mom and dad are waiting for us.”

“Mom and dad?” That’s strange, even for her dream. It… was a dream right? A shudder runs up her back. For a second, she doesn’t want to move.

“We promised them lunch, remember?” Dick smiles, dragging her along.

“Something is wrong, Dick.” More ozone.

“It’s just lunch.” Dick smiles, wrapping an arm around her.

“Maybe the poor dear need to lie down?” Mary Grayson says, her voice comforting as she presses the back of her hand to Eleanor’s forehead. Eleanor blinks again, confused.

“Dick?”

“Are you alright Eleanor?” John Grayson asks, worryingly taking a step towards her, like he needs to catch her should she fall.

Eleanor’s breath catches in her throat. How were they here? Mary and John died years ago. It wasn’t possible.

“Why not?” Dick asks, “Jason came back right? The Lazarus pits are natural springs, why shouldn’t they be used?”

“Eleanor.” Mary says, smiling as blood drips down the side of her head, her skull looks partially cracked inwards, and John’s arm and leg are twisting in an unnatural angle.

“Wouldn’t you use it if it were your dad, Ellie?” Dick asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What if it was me?” He grips his middle, trying to stop the flow of blood from the knife in her hand. “Wouldn’t you save my life?”

~*~

Thunder strikes and Eleanor wakes up gasping, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and curling in on herself, cold sweat coating her like a second layer, the beginning of a scream trapped in her lungs. Eleanor takes a gulping breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

Had she been dreaming? She _had_ to have, right? Yet when she tries to remember it, she comes up blank, like nothing sticks with her, only a horrible feeling of wrongness. Her heart is still beating too quickly in her chest, like it’s trying to rip its way out. She feels her pulse in her ears, rushing past like a waterfall. She raises her head slowly, resting her elbows on her thigh and her hand pressing against her forehead. Nights like these are the worst ones, her normal nightmares left her antsy, sure. But at least she remembered them.

“You okay?” Tim calls across the room. When she looks over, Tim’s sat on his bed fully dressed, a map splayed out in front of him and his phone and a marker pen in his hand. Morning sunlight is streaming through the gap in the curtains near the door, shining off specks of dust in the air before it stops by the foot of Tim’s bed.

“Nightmare.” Eleanor explains swallowing past the dryness of her throat, or at least she thinks it was a nightmare.

Tim nods solemnly, they all had them. “Do you want to talk about it?” He offers kindly after Eleanor’s erratic breathing calms a bit, even though he looks a bit uncomfortable at the thought.

“I can’t remember it.” She says, and realises that it totally sounds like she’s trying to avoid the subject. Tim doesn’t look too bothered, he just shrugs, goes back to his phone. Eleanor knows that it’s normal to forget your dreams, but slowly right? As you’re waking up? Some of the other nightmares she has are vivid in her mind. Normally Jason in that warehouse, Dick’s broken gaze, Stephanie dead on the exam table in Leslie’s clinic. Stuff that made her panic and dry heave.

These ones though, just… gone. The physical manifestations of a nightmare was there, the cold sweat, erratic heartbeat, the underlying terror.

No images, or sounds or even any indication who it had been about.

Eleanor runs her hand down her face and goes unlock her phone, only to see the five missed calls and eight texts since she put it on soundless before going to bed. They’re all from Dick. For a second her left ring finger feels heavy, she finds herself staring at it in confusion before flexing her fingers and going back to her phone. Eleanor doesn’t particularly feel like calling back, so she replies to one of the numerous texts with a quick, _‘Don’t worry, Tim and I are okay, we’re just taking the long way back to Gotham. Love you.’_ When she doesn’t immediately get a reply she puts the phone down, he’s probably still sleeping.

“I’m gonna shower, then, how do you feel about breakfast?” She asks Tim, standing up and stretching, several joints in her body make a popping sound.

Tim shrugs. “Not really hungry.”

She wasn’t either. “Food on the road?”

“Sure.”

Maybe she shouldn’t accommodate that attitude, since breakfast was supposedly the most important meal of the day, but Eleanor had never been a breakfast person, to Alfred’s chagrin.

“I could go for a coffee.” Tim ads as Eleanor collects some of the clothes she bought for herself yesterday. She makes a face, to which Tim chuckles lightly.

When she comes out of the shower, Eleanor feels marginally more human and Tim’s moved from the bed to the small table by the windows and opened the curtains to let in more natural light. He’s chewing his lip when she walks across the room to peer over his shoulder.

“You know,” she starts, following the red line across the country, there’s another line in blue. “Planning ahead like this kind of takes away from the spontaneousness of our road trip.”

“Not all towns will have a charging station for the tesla.” Tim replies flatly, giving her somewhat of an annoyed look. “So we need to take that into account.”

“Good point.”

Both lines avoid Kansas like the plague. The blue one splits north in Utah, following the road through southern Wyoming, through Nebraska and Iowa, Chicago is circled once and so is Central City and lastly Washington before it stops at Gotham. The red line goes south in Utah, continuing down through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and Louisiana. Atlanta is circled once before it meets up with the blue line in Washington.

“What do you think?”

“If we’re going with the red one we’re definitely stopping in New Orleans, I’ve always wanted to see the French Quarter.”

“Okay.” Tim agrees. “There’s actually a place in northern Nevada, a cave system with these crystals that I’d like to see too.”

“Seems pretty doable.” Eleanor smiles. “So that’s like… roughly over a week?” She eyes the numbers Tim’s written on the side of the map.

“Something like that.” He smiles briefly, “still not too late to go back to the tower and zeta back home.”

“Nope!” She declares, nudging his shoulder. “We’re doing this now, so grab your stuff and lets go buy you a camera.”

As it turns out, buying a camera for Tim is kind of like playing whack-a-mole. He keeps finding ones he likes, then finding a flaw or something else ridiculous, and shooting it down on the spot _(it’s not enough pixels, the pictures will be bad. The zoom function is garbage on this one.)_ Or something, Eleanor doesn’t really know the photography scene, so they spend almost half an hour humming and a hawing going through different stores to find one that Tim likes. Even the clerk in the store tries to help only to get dismissed by Tim. Tim, who once the poor guy is out of earshot, hisses that the dude had no idea what he was talking about.

Eleanor has to stop several times from laughing out loud as more sales personnel tries to one up Tim on their camera knowledge, because Tim is absolutely _ruthless_. She gets the glimpse of Timothy Drake, boy CEO of Wayne Enterprises, someone that had terrified(and impressed) the competition and board members alike. Even at some point where Tim manages to catch her eye, and she sees the glint there, the one that means he’s actually _enjoying_ the back and forth.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side.” She says, once Tim’s satisfied with his purchase. He shoots her a sly grin, accompanied with that look in his eyes that definitely says, ‘ _I am smarter than you, and I know it.’_

About an hour later they’re finally out of San Francisco, briefly stopping to pick some food up by a roadside gas station, Tim sets up his phone as a GPS and Eleanor is really glad that this particular car is self-driven. Roughly an hour after that, they eat lunch in a quaint little diner just outside Sacramento, and then moves on to Black Rock Desert where Tim’s cave is located, Dick calls her, and she debates for a moment if she really wants to talk to him. Tim watches her watching her phone until Dick’s name disappears from the screen. He doesn’t say anything though, and Eleanor sighs.

“We’re not really fighting.” She hears herself say. “Not really.”

Tim hums.

“He’s just not listening.”

“You want to complain about him? Go ahead.” Tim offers. “He’s not exactly my favourite person at the moment.”

Eleanor groans, resisting the urge to slam her fists into the steering wheel in frustration. “He’s being stubborn, and not listening and, and thinking he doesn’t need anyone else’s opinion.” She lists off on her fingers, glaring at her phone as it lights up again. “He’s acting like… like _Bruce.”_

Tim nods, gesturing for her to go on.

“He knows I support him. I always do, but this! I get that Gotham needs a protector, and that it has to be him, but what I don’t get is why—how he could make all of these decisions. Like _Damian_.” She sneers the name, angrily pressing the red ignore call button on her phone.

“I can’t say I’m a big fan of that one.” Tim agrees.

“Robin wasn’t his to give.” She says firmly, “it was _yours_.”

“Even if I wanted to,” Tim starts. “It hardly would have been to someone who’s tried to kill me.” He scoffs. “At least Jason’s attempt was because of Pit madness, Damian is just a brat.”

God, how could she have forgotten that Jason tried to kill Tim too? While yes, Jason came back after a dip in the Lazarus pit, found out that he’d been replaced, thought he was unloved and retaliated out of misguided anger, it didn’t remove the fact that he’d _still tried to kill Tim._

Then again, Damian’s reason had been because he wanted what Tim had, and also because he’d been conditioned since he was an infant to _take_ what he wanted.

“Our family is messed up.” She murmurs through her fingers.

“Extremely.” Tim agrees drily.

~*~

“You know.” Eleanor murmurs, looking over her shoulder at the fence they just scaled. “I’m pretty sure the sign that said, ‘Restricted Area: Do Not Enter’, wasn’t a suggestion.”

Tim chuckles. “Since when do we follow property laws?”

That’s fair. “What’s so important about this cave anyway?” Eleanor asks, following Tim as they jog towards an opening in the mountain ahead of them.

“Pretty rocks?” Tim says offhandedly, his voice echoes gently as they enter the cave mouth.

She snorts. “I know I’m not a genius like you are Tim, but don’t insult my intelligence. I thought we agreed to no case work.”

“It’s not really case work.” Tim insists, he does have the decency to look a bit embarrassed on being caught in whatever scheme he’s cooked up. “The rocks _are_ pretty, there might just be something else in there too, and I figure, since we’re in the area…”

“Fine.” She murmurs, she can be a pragmatist too.

The harsh walls turn sharply and suddenly they’re not in dim light anymore, as the whole cave lights up in a soft blue hue, almost sparkling in the closed off grotto. It looks like they’ve stepped into an ocean of pale blue stars.

“Thermoluminescence,” Tim says quietly. “During the day, the cave heats up to the point that these fluorite rocks retain the heat and start glowing.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Tim smiles. “Yeah, it is.”

“How’d you know about it?” She asks, carefully touching one of the warm to the touch rocks on the walls.

“I may have hacked the Pentagon?”

Another laugh tumbles out of her, slightly more shocked. “ _Why?”_

“A rumour, I had to confirm it.” Tim shrugs, bringing his camera out and snapping a couple of pictures of the rocks.

“If you tell me what you’re searching for, I could help you.” Eleanor points out.

“No I got it.” He shakes his head, glancing at her. “Really.”

“Alright, keep your secrets.” She teases lightly, taking her phone out to snap a couple of pictures herself. She kind of wants to text Dick again, show him how beautiful it is. She shakes her head, and sends the picture to Cass instead, the reply is and instant stream of messages of how wonderful it looks, comparing it to a Disney movie. Eleanor shakes her head. _I miss you, little sister. S_ he types out. _I miss you too, big sister._ Cass replies with.

Cassandra had left for Hong Kong after giving Steph the Batgirl uniform, claiming that she needed some time to sift through her own thoughts. Eleanor hadn’t wanted to let go of her when they’d gone to say bye at the airport. Cassandra had indulged her right up until the point of her flight before she’d wiggled free with a promise of calling every once in a while.

“Done.” Tim says after a while, coming back with a surprisingly resolute look in his eyes.

“You’re still not going to tell me?”

He hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not yet. I need to go over some things first.”

“No case work, huh?” She teases again, bumping their shoulders. “You didn’t manage a day.”

“It’s not a case.” Tim insists, giving her a wry smile. “It’s more of a project, I promise I’ll tell you later, I just need to—” He stops, shrugging.

“Okay, a project. But let’s get out of here before whoever guards this place decides to come snooping.”

That gets a proper smile out of the younger, he nods, putting his camera back into his bag and starts jogging towards the fence. Eleanor follows quickly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot is going somewhere whop!  
> Thermoluminescence is actually pretty cool, but I'm embellishing a little for fictions sake, but hey, pretty glowing rocks that's not kryptonite amiright? :D  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Don't need another perfect lie

The Grand Canyon is gorgeous. The dip, curve and twist of the river bending around the stone like a snake makes Eleanor marvel at how long it had been here. She wonders for a second, what it looked like a few thousand years ago, before the water had corroded the stone down to what it was today. The warmth of the sun is bearable through the breeze from the canyon itself, though Eleanor’s glad that they’d stopped and gotten sunglasses from one of the nearby tourist shops. The whole place smells like sunshine and nature, so very different from the smog of Gotham that she’s used to.

The sound of a shutter going off draws her attention to where Tim is stood, camera pointed up in the sky.

“Bird watching?”

“It looked like a hawk.” Tim says, flicking through the pictures on the small digital screen, Eleanor peers over his shoulder. The small black bird _(ha)_ isn’t blurred despite being a long way away.

“Pretty sure that’s a raven.” Or a crow maybe, though the big beak would suggest a raven.

“The brochure said that you’d be able to see more birds of prey at this spot.” Tim huffs, peering through his camera again, messing around with the zoom function. Eleanor shrugs, going back to leaning against the fence, closing her eyes to enjoy the sunlight on her face, and the ruffling of the wind through her hair.

It’s moments like this that makes her think about how much her family missed out on normal activities. Traveling without having a mission in mind, stopping, and seeing the beauty of the land around them without thinking about the logistics for capturing a bad guy or scouting an area. She wonders of the idea of what everyone’s life would look like without Batman.

Bruce would still be alive, and she’d like to think that her and Dick would have met regardless. Batman hadn’t stopped or at all been involved in the murder of Dick’s parents, but he had helped Dick focus his anger on something else, and given him closure with Tony Zucco. And while Dick is liquid sunshine to the bats, in comparison to someone like the Big Blue Boy Scout, he’s still a bat. Without Batman’s guidance, what would have happened?

Though, Jason would never have died, but then again without Batman, Jason would have never left the crime infested alleys of Park Row. No batmobile equals no stolen wheels, right? He’d grow up without anyone, and even though Jason was and had always been scary smart, how long could a kid survive on the streets without turning into something bad? Or just survive, period.

Tim wouldn’t have had it much better, both of his parents would have died instead of just Janet and he’d be left the sole heir of the Drake fortune. With no other relatives to take care of him, he’d go into the system while the government froze his money until he turned eighteen, and Eleanor doubted that rich kids did well there.

It would be even worse for Cassandra, she’d still be a mindless assassin slave to her biological father’s whim, and Damian wouldn’t even have been born. Okay so, without Batman things would look worse, way, _way_ worse.

She turns her head to look at Tim, the past few days had proven fairly therapeutical for both of them. Tim seemed less… bothered. Like a weight had lifted from his shoulders, and whatever his secret project was, it had him motivated. It was nice to see that despite Jack Drake’s terrible parenting and all the other horrible stuff Tim had gone through recently, he could still be a sixteen year old kid. It was nice to see that he still allowed himself these things.

“What?” Tim asks, when he lowers his camera and notices her staring.

Eleanor shrugs. “Let’s take a picture together.”

Tim tilts his head ever so slightly, this adorable look akin to a confused puppy appearing on his face. “A picture?”

When she only nods, Tim shrugs and walks over, stopping next to her, though not close enough to touch. Eleanor’s happy enough to accommodate his need for personal space. Tim holds the camera out and Eleanor smiles as Tim presses the button, the shutter clicks several times before Tim leans away.

When he flips it over the two of them are immortalized on the small digital screen, outlined by the sight of the canyon and a cloudless sky behind them.

“Oh, that’s lovely to see.” A voice calls to their right. Both her and Tim look over in surprise. The old lady who’s just spoken is a small, crumbled woman, maybe in her late seventies, she squints, pushing tiny, rounded glasses up on her nose. “You never see brother and sister together like this anymore.”

Eleanor glances to Tim, unsure of what to say.

The elderly woman continues unbothered by the silence. “Young folk now adays, only interested in _Facebook_ and _video games_. A healthy relationship with your sibling always makes you strong, that’s what my mama always said.”

Eleanor opens her mouth to say… something, anything really, but before she can the old lady smiles, nodding as she walks off. Eleanor turns slightly to look at her brother, Tim has a small, puzzled smile on his lips, similar to her own, she imagines.

“You, uh, you think we look that similar?” He questions quietly after a moments pause.

Eleanor looks at him, the paleness of his skin, though slightly flushed from being in the sun all day. Slender facial features with a delicate chin and thin lips. Hooded dark blue eyes, that hides that scary cold intelligence, yet that she knows is also filled with so much empathy it rivalled Dick’s. Adding the black hair that reaches to his jawline, she could say that in a glance, they do look kind of similar.

Eleanor tilts her head. “Maybe if you grow a couple of more inches.” She ruffles his hair and Tim gapes.

“What?” He splutters, coughing like he’s choking on his own spit, then follows her as she starts walking back towards the parked tesla.

“You’re sixteen, baby bird” Eleanor teases. “You’ll probably have another growth spurt in you. Maybe.”

“I’m five-seven!”

Eleanor hums good naturedly.

“It’s not my fault you’re a freak of nature giant!”

“I am not a giant!” Eleanor gasps, placing her hand over her heart in mock offence. Really, five-ten wasn’t that tall, her mother had been five-ten too, and Wayne’s were infamous for it… Though Damian might be an exception for that, so far anyway. “You take that back you little shit!”

“Never.” Tim grins all teeth.

“You don’t want to make an enemy out of me, Drake, I know where you sleep, and I have _resources._ Like, bugs and stuff.” She jokes.

“This is your first and only warning.” Tim says smugly. “Don’t start a prank war you can’t finish.” Tim nudges her, and Eleanor takes that as an invite to throw her arm over his shoulders. Halfway to the car, she hears Tim laugh for the first time in months.

~*~

“Motels have their quirks,” Eleanor says, undoing the towel from her wet hair as she steps out onto the balcony. “But nothing beats a super expensive pressure shower.”

Tim lets out a low humming agreeing sound from the sunchair, where he’s sat in only a tee, shorts, and slightly damp hair, messing around with something on his phone in the warm May Arizonian setting sun. She drapes the damp towel over one of the chairs and sits down next to Tim under the parasol. Ruffling her hair and leaning back to enjoy the warmth, it wasn’t overbearing, they’d fortunately gotten to Arizona before peak summer time, which was a relief as Eleanor’s fairly certain that even some of the population actually moved away during the warmer months.

The staff of the Four Seasons had basically tripped over themselves to set up a room for her and Tim once they’d seen their last names.

“I meant to ask,” Tim starts, putting his phone down. “Who did you talk to last night?”

“What?” Eleanor arches an eyebrow in confusion.

“At the motel in Big Water, you left the room during the night.”

“No, I didn’t?” She feels an uncertain smile appear on her lips, he’s joking right? Some sort of prank? Because she didn’t, she’d remember taking a phone call in the middle of the night, that’s not something you just _forget_.

Tim’s looking at her strangely. “Yes, you did? I couldn’t sleep and you just got up during the night, took your phone, and went outside. I assumed you needed to call someone.” He shakes his head. “Like the first night too, you went outside the motel room. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He adds the last bit as if he hadn’t considered that she’d want it private.

“Tim.” Eleanor says, holding her hand up, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What? You’re sleepwalking or something?” He chuckles, a confused smile appearing on his face.

Eleanor drags her fingers through the wet strands of her hair, staring at him and feeling like there’s a pit in her stomach of something unnerving. “I think _someone_ would have noticed by now if I did.”

Now Tim is starting to look as worried as she feels. “Tell me what you saw.” She demands. “Leave nothing out.”

“Okay…” Tim starts, staring her down. “The first night I couldn’t sleep, too many thoughts, so I were just lying in bed trying to sleep. Then I heard the door close and noticed you were out of your own bed. I figured you were just getting some air or something, you came back after ten minutes. Then last night it was pretty much the same thing, I couldn’t sleep, you got up and left, came back after a couple of minutes, less than five, and went back to bed.” He tilts his head in question. “Is this some sort of test? I can’t really tell if you’re pulling my leg or being serious right now.”

That couldn’t be right. Eleanor doesn’t remember waking up at all, least of all talking on her phone, which—

“My phone.” She says, ignoring the last question and gets out of the chair with a small leap. The bag she bought before they left San Francisco is open on her bed, filled with clothes she’d also bought along the way, her black WayneTech phone is lying on the side of it. She unlocks it by pressing her thumb to the scanner then scrolls through the phone app, Dick’s, Tim’s, and Jason’s names are all there, and couple of numbers from work, but nothing that stands out. When she turns, Tim is standing in the doorway.

Eleanor shakes her head. “If I called someone there’s nothing here.” She says— _If she called someone_ , that’s… it’s ridiculous right? She wasn’t sleepwalking, and people didn’t just develop that sort of thing out of fucking nowhere.

“Dick would have noticed if I did,” she murmurs. “Alfred, Jason, even dad would have known.” She looks up at Tim. “What the hell is going on?”

“Maybe it’s just some sort of way for your brain to deal with trauma?”

“By sleepwalking?”

“Yeah, that sounds crazy.”

“Are you sure you weren’t just imagining it?” She asks hesitantly, because honestly any other implications were terrifying.

“If it hadn’t happened twice I might be inclined to agree, sleep deprivation does funny things to the brain and all. But…”

“Twice is weird.”

“Twice is weird.” Tim echoes. He taps on his phone, eyes darting as he reads.

“We should call Dick.” She hears herself say, if she were a danger… if she weren’t aware of what she was doing, the amount of damage she could cause was… There was a reason why Jason’s instability had been so dangerous when he came back. If any of them really wanted to cause hurt, they all knew a hundred and then some ways of how to do it. And… and if it really was as bad as Eleanor suspected, then, she needed to be contained. In a cell, back at the cave.

“Okay, wait.” Tim says as if he can hear her thoughts becoming more and more panicked. He holding his hand up to his chin, and keeps his eyes on his phone. “Sleepwalking can be caused by a number of things. Stress, anxiety, changes of environment, head injuries, lack of sleep. So let’s not jump to the worst possible conclusion just yet.”

“Right.” Eleanor could with a hundred percent accuracy say that she’d experienced at least all of those things once in her life. “And the worst possible conclusion is…?”

Neither of them speak. Eleanor is terrified to give words to it, and Tim looks unsettled.

She wets her lips, if there’s even a chance of her being a danger... “I should call Dick.” She waits for Tim to say anything, or to give any indication of what he’s thinking. When he looks up from his phone with a short nod, and a carefully crafted mask of a vigilante back in place, Eleanor immediately feels bad. “I’m sorry, I dragged you out here and this—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tim interrupts firmly. “This isn’t your fault, and whatever it is, we hope for the best but plan for the worst.”

“Right.” Eleanor says again, feeling herself nod. Then in a bit of uncharacteristic optimism says, “rain check on the road trip then.”

Tim’s lips twitch in sardonic smile. “We got all the way to Arizona before stuff went to hell, that’s got to be a record somewhere, right?”

She huffs a humourless laugh, then looks away from him with a heavy sigh. She’d wanted to take the road trip to take Tim’s mind of everything that had happened, and in the process feel useful again. Because back in Gotham Eleanor had felt like she was in the way. A nuisance, even though Dick had never—and would never, say so. She liked to be the dependable, the one that people could lean on. Not the one that needed help, God, asking for help was… she _hated_ it, it felt humiliating. _Weak_. Even though a part of her knew that there was nothing wrong with it.

There was that, and the fact that there was so many other things she wanted to talk to Tim about, and now it felt like she was running out of time.

“I am sorry Tim.” Eleanor murmurs. “I will make it up to you, I promise.” Somehow.

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he says a bit awkwardly, shuffling on his feet. “Let’s just make sure everything’s okay with you.”

~*~

An hour later Eleanor finds herself leaning over a table with her palms pressed flatly on the hard wood surface, staring at her phone as if it’s something contagious. The number on the screen is one that she knows by heart, she could recite it in her sleep. Yet it’s making her feel about as nervous as a schoolgirl at her first prom, not that Eleanor ever went to prom. She hadn’t been this anxious to talk to him since No Man’s Land, which was, God, three years ago now. Which is ridiculous really, because Dick is the love of her life and she trusts him even though maybe right now he’s being a bit of an insensitive jerk. And even that is a vast oversimplification, he’s not being a jerk on purpose. He’s just doing what he thinks he _needs_ to do.

She closes her eyes for a second, then with a barely contained sigh picks up her phone and presses the call button. The tone drones on for so long that she thinks for a moment that Dick is busy, or asleep. When it does connect there’s a slightly out of breath puff of air in her ear as he speaks.

“Ellie?” Eleanor’s heart does that funny thing in her chest whenever she hears him speak. “Hello? Eleanor?”

“Hey.” She murmurs, unsure of how to start.

“Hey,” Dick breathes back, “how… do you—are, is everything alright?” She hears a muffled curse, “I’ve missed you.”

Unbridled, a smile sneaks it’s way onto her lips. “I’ve missed you too.”

“That’s good.” He says, she can hear the smile on his lips too, he clears his throat. “Are… you guys having fun?”

There’s a bit of hurt in his voice, Eleanor realises. Are you guys having fun, _without me_. Not said but implied. Part of her wants to tell him it’s self-inflicted, that he has no one but himself to blame.

“We saw the Grand Canyon today.” She says, it’s much easier to talk about. _If I don’t think about the bad things they will go away._ Like _that_ has ever worked before. Eleanor bites back a sigh. “Tim took pictures of birds.”

“That’s nice.” He sounds so uncertain that it hurts her.

“Dick, I—” Eleanor wets her lips, shifting her grip on her phone. Should she just get straight to the point? But then, she didn’t want to unload more trouble on his shoulders, it already felt like he carried the world, maybe she didn’t need to tell him anything. They could deal with this on their own right? Tim is resourceful and clever, if anyone could figure it out it would be him… Right?

“Ellie?”

“Something’s wrong with me, Dick.” Eleanor swallows thickly. “I think… it might be pretty serious.”

She hears the sharp exhale.

“I’m on my way.”


	6. Tell me it’ll all be alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know it hurts_   
>  _It’s hard to breathe sometimes_
> 
> Her lips are dry, and her mouth feels like sandpaper, yet she manages to croak out a weak, “Hello?” and tap on the door with her knuckles.

When Eleanor wakes up she feels like she’s been simultaneously run over by a truck and has _the_ worst hangover in the history of hangovers. Accompanied by the trembling feeling of terror and the almost scream escaping her lips… It’s possibly the worst mixture of feelings she’s ever experienced. She grimaces, eyes fluttering open to mostly darkness and there’s a sharp sting on her lip, Eleanor reaches up almost absentmindedly to the wound, confusion pushing back everything else.

When she looks around the room is small, the cot she’s lying on is not uncomfortable per say, but hardly the stuff she’s used to. The glass walls are opaque and there’s a faint outline of gentle yellow light that illuminates the area to a comfortable degree, at the end of the cot there’s another enclosed space, and Eleanor recognizes it as a small bathroom before her brain catches up with the rest of her and she realises _what_ she is in. One of the containment crates. Meant to house either one of the family should they prove to be a danger, to themselves or otherwise.

She shifts on the cot, the blanket falling back as she sits up. When she draws in a deep breath the immediate pain in her chest makes her let out a muffled cry of pain. What the hell had happened? Eleanor glances down to her knuckles, bruised and bandaged, a splint keeps her little finger and ring finger together on her right hand. There’s another bandage wrapped around her right forearm and when she prods it cautiously she winces from pain. Nothing feels broken though, which is a mild relief. Now she just has to find out how she got here and what happened. Easy.

With a small huff, Eleanor stands, having to immediately press her uninjured hand to the glass wall to keep her balance when the room spins. She waits, breathes through the nauseous feeling then takes small steps to the only door.

Her lips are dry, and her mouth feels like sandpaper, yet she manages to croak out a weak, “Hello?” and tap on the door with her knuckles.

Eleanor doesn’t quite know how long she stands by the door, leaning her throbbing head against the cool glass, and murmuring with a broken voice. Phrases like _‘hello? Is anyone there?’_ and _‘what’s going on?’_

She remembers the phone call to Dick, she remembers telling Tim that Dick was on his way, then… nothing. A billion questions burn in her mind, how long had she been unconscious? _Had_ she been unconscious? What did she do while everything was blank?

Sleepwalking. Right.

Eleanor presses on the splint on her right hand, hissing as the pain clears her head. Then the opaque fades to see-through and she’s met with Alfred’s warm gaze.

“Miss Eleanor.” Alfred greets her. “If you would go back to the cot and lie down I shall have a glass of water and some soup brought to you post-haste.”

“Alfred? What happened?” She almost stumbles over her own feet when she goes to follow his orders, water sounded really nice.

“I will let Master Richard explain the situation, he has been notified and is on his way.” Alfred replies calmly, the door opens, and the butler walks in with a tray, putting it down on the plastic table by the cot. It isn’t until she’s taken the glass out of Alfred’s hands that she notices the white ball of fur on the other side of the glass. A white ball of fur with two piercing blue eyes that stares at her with a cocked head and fluffy ears.

Eleanor blinks. The dog blinks back, giving a small _‘wuff’_ in greeting. She hears the faint _‘thump, thump, thump’_ of the dogs tail hitting the metal deck. Her eyes drops to the golden collar with the triangular ‘s’ shield hanging from it.

“Krypto?” She asks, stunned.

Alfred says nothing and the dog’s tongue lolls out as he tilts his head again to his name.

Was she seeing things? Krypto had been missing ever since Conner’s death. What the hell was he doing here now? There’s a bit of relief when Alfred leaves the containment room and lands a pet on top of Krypto’s head. At least she wasn’t imagining the super-dog. Yet Krypto doesn’t follow after Alfred, instead he stays stubbornly by the glass, staring at her until she drains the last of the water in the plastic cup.

She manages to down two spoon full of chicken broth soup before her stomach tries to do flips and she decides to play it safe even though it smells really appetizing. Then there’s the soft purring of the red and black batmobile, Dick jumping out of it before it’s engine is completely silent and runs up to the containment glass while pulling the cowl from his head. There’s a line of dirt just under his cheekbones that makes it look like he hasn’t shaved in a while. His hair is sweaty and flattened to his scalp from the cowl, and his blue eyes wide in concern.

“Ellie.” He says, completely ignoring Krypto when the super dog stands up to happily greet him, when the dog doesn’t get the attention he wants he turns to the second approaching figure. Damian is more than happy to crouch down and give the dog some pets, which surprisingly makes Eleanor feel less cold towards the new addition to their family.

“Dick.” She greets her boyfriend, wetting her lips. “What’s going on? Where’s Tim?”

Relief seems to bleed out of Dick when she replies.

“Tim’s upstairs with Alfred,” Dick says, then pauses, like he doesn’t quite know what to say.

“What’s going on?” Eleanor repeats.

“You’ve been mentally conditioned to spy on us.” Damian speaks as he stands up straight, sounding just as condescending as he did when she last spoke to him. “And to no one’s surprise, Drake couldn’t take you out even with your sloppy reaction time and had to call on the assistance of a dog.”

He keeps talking, something about Tim’s inaptitude and her own carelessness but all Eleanor can feel is a churning in her gut because _what_ had she done to Tim?! And she was… conditioned? _Brainwashed?_ For how long? And who…? And _Tim_ , what had happened to him? Had she hurt him? Eleanor _doesn’t remember anything._ Rational thinking makes way for panic and soon she’s grasping her ribs in pain as her breathing starts to become uneven.

“Damian.” Dick hisses, “shut up.”

She hurt Tim.

_She hurt Tim._

Then another set of gloved hands grasps her own and Eleanor recoils so violently that when she looks up Dick is on his ass in front of her with a surprised look in his eyes. He says something that sounds like buzzing in her ears before her stomach churns again.

“Eleanor.” Dick pleads, holding his hands up in front of her like she’s a cornered animal.

“I hurt Tim.”

“Eleanor—”

_“I hurt Tim.”_

“Listen!” Dick snaps, grabbing her upper arms.

“No—no… I—don’t touch me!” She struggles, trying to get him away from her—from danger. From _her_ , because if she hurt Tim then she’d hurt other members of her family too, right? How long has this been going on? For how long has she been putting her family at risk? She needed to get away from them—to be locked away far, _far_ away or… or _something_. She feels ill just thinking about how much damage she’s caused them. She dry heaves, sinking to her knees and tries to curl up on herself, Dick doesn’t allow it.

“Eleanor!” He tries again, “you’ve got to breathe! Tim is fine, a bit bruised but he’s alright! Please, _breathe!”_

Dick pulls her into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulder blades and even as she half-heartedly struggles he refuses to let her go. Until she finally exhausts herself against the hard armour of the batsuit. Hiccupping sobs of _‘I’m sorry’_ tumbling out of her lips until her throat feels sore and there’s no more tears left in her eyes. Dick holds her throughout it all, petting her hair and soothingly whispering that they’re going to work this out, it’s going to be alright.

Foolishly, Eleanor believes him.

~*~

She’s not exactly asleep when the door to her containment chamber opens, she’s just lying down on the slightly uncomfortable cot with her eyes closed. The thought of sleep was terrifying, but she couldn’t quite make herself to sit up any longer. Eleanor is exhausted, she’s been awake for… two days now? No that wasn’t exactly right, maybe three. Even though sleep wasn’t a certain trigger, she couldn’t just risk it.

Bare feet pads softly across the small room, and then the cot dips lightly. Eleanor shuffles back when a warm hand nudges her shoulder, enough to make space for the other person.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” Eleanor murmurs.

“Yes well, you won’t hurt me.” He replies calmly, the hand on her shoulder moving up to trail over her cheek and jaw.

“I hurt Tim.”

“ _You_ didn’t.” Dick insists, just like before. “It was the conditioning forcing you to.”

Eleanor opens her eyes to find him staring lovingly at her, and finds herself relaxing despite herself.

“Currently the conditioning is me.” She replies, trying to sound apathic. By the slight wobble of her tone it doesn’t quite work.

“You would never hurt me.” Dick repeats, leaning in to press his forehead against hers. Eleanor swallows back the sudden onset of emotion, closing her eyes to refuse the tears that gather in her eyes any release. Dick’s presence is soothing, even though it feels like her heart is breaking in two. For the past month they’d tried to get the mental programming inside of her brain to break, find a keyword, or something that would free her, and so far nothing. She was so tired of it, being isolated from her family, from her _life._

She would hurt him if the conditioning got the chance, the cast that Tim still had on his arm was proof of that. She probably would have killed him if Krypto hadn’t knocked her out.

But she doesn’t want to fight with Dick, not anymore, if this was the last time _Eleanor_ was in charge, then she wanted it to be a happy moment, if not for her, then for Dick. Without drawing away from him, she opens her eyes and studies his features.

“What does your dream life look like?” Eleanor whispers.

Dick frowns slightly. “My dream life?” He says, though his eyes remains closed.

She smiles, feeling that sting in her heart again. “Yeah.”

He pulls back a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he opens them and smiles at her. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

Eleanor hesitates, not because she doesn’t have a dream in mind, she’s got several in fact, but it felt weird to think about now, it felt so far away that she couldn’t really see it in her mind’s eye anymore. Lying had never been very difficult though.

“Suburban house, two point five kids, a big back garden with a pool and a white picket fence.” She lists off, “maybe a dog.” Though Eleanor was more of a cat person. _(Don’t tell the super-dog still guarding Tim.)_

Dick snorts.

“Uh-huh. Liar.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your turn.”

He sighs, sounding world-weary and maybe, a bit upset. Eleanor feels bad for causing it even though it’s probably for the best, it would be easier in the long run.

“You, me and our family.” Dick says, pulling her close so that their chests are touching, Eleanor curls in a bit, tucking her head under his jaw, and Dick holds her even closer. He’s so warm that she almost shudders against him. He continues, holding her tightly. “Everything else is just minor details. The conditioning, the where, the how. We could live in a palace or on the streets, and it would be unimportant. Because I love you.”

It’s sweet of him to say. And it’s not like she doesn’t believe him either, if she asked, Dick would give up anything for her. Which is exactly why she’d never ask that of him.

“You’d never be Nightwing again, it would be too dangerous for everyone else.” If they never got the conditioning out of her head. He would have to give up everything for her, they’d have to live separate from everyone. Her heart squeezes painfully in her chest, even as she worms a hand around his waist. Holding him just as tightly as he holds her. Dick is silent for a while, breathing softly against her hair.

“I’d always choose you.”

She swallows thickly, _I will always choose you too_ , is on the tip of her tongue. Yet what comes out is, “and I don’t want you to have to choose between being you and loving me.”

Silence again.

It hurts to say it, but she loves him too much to try and force him to be anyone he’s not, and Dick is a vigilante to his bones, he helps people, in grey and black or black and blue, it doesn’t matter. Maybe she’s putting him up on a pedestal, but that’s how she sees him, the light—the hope, in the dark. Even through all of the terrible things that he’d had to endure, he still gave life it all. Dick was in her opinion, hope, joy, and stubbornness personified.

She doesn’t quite realise that he’s crying until she feels her hair get wet, by then Dick is shaking slightly, dragging an unsteady breath in through his mouth.

“Stop being so pessimistic.” He says thickly, petting her hair. “You always plan for the worst possible outcome. You talk like you can’t break through this, that we can’t help you. That whatever Ra’s did to you—”

“It’s not Ra’s.”

“ _Whatever_ , Eleanor.” Dick pulls back enough that she can see the red rims of his eyes, and his tear stained cheeks. He looks heart wrenchingly beautiful. “Don’t give up on me.” He begs quietly, returning to rest his forehead against hers.

Never, she wants to say.

Instead Eleanor holds him tighter.

“Don’t give up on me.” Dick repeats a bit louder.

_I love you._ She wants to say, instead she draws the words on his chest. “I carry your heart with me,” Eleanor murmurs softly, feeling his arms hold her tighter. “I carry it in my heart.”

“I am never without it.” Dick says after a heartbeats pause, and for a second Eleanor’s fingers stop trailing _‘I love you’s’_ on his chest in surprise. She didn’t think he knew this one. He continues when her fingers start moving again, “anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling.”

Eleanor smiles into the crook of his neck.

“I fear no fate,” she whispers. “for you are my fate, my sweet.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Dick says, interrupting the flow of the poem. Laughing, Eleanor slaps her hand on his chest lightly and Dick chuckles. “I actually don’t remember the rest of it.”

That’s okay, she thinks, propping herself up on her elbow, reaching up to trail her fingers over his cheekbone in a gentle caress. “I want no world, for beautiful you are my world, my true.”

She continues in deep reverence by gently moving his hair away from his eyes. Sky blues that shine with love and wonder. “And it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.”

Leaning down, Eleanor brushes her lips over the slight flush on his cheek. “Here is the deepest secret nobody knows,” she whispers, moving her lips over his skin to the corner of his mouth feeling the soft inhale through his parted lips. “Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide.”

Ever so gently she kisses him, then moves away before he can return it, running her thumb over his lips. “and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart.”

“I carry your heart, I carry it in my heart.”

~*~

“It’s a dead Chinese dialect.” Tim says in front of the screens of the batcomputer, absentmindedly scratching behind Krypto’s ear with his uninjured arm. Eleanor catches the colour of the blue cast on the other and immediately feels that same pang of regret and nausea. _She caused that._ Willingly or not, it was her fingers that had wrapped around Tim’s wrist and twisted it until it had snapped.

Not that she remembers it. And not that they’d told her in great detail what happened.

But she’s a detective too, and there is only so many ways you can snap a wrist.

“I don’t speak Chinese.” Eleanor mutters from behind the glass when Tim glances her way. “In any dialect.”

She wasn’t allowed to leave the containment cell, of her own ruling. To not completely lose her mind Dick had offered to keep her up to date on their search to try and get whatever outside influence resided deep in her mind. After all, as long as she was locked up in the safety of the Bunker, there was no way she could inform to anyone. She’d agreed to an extent, because she hadn’t wanted to crush Dick’s optimism. Eleanor had already decided that she wouldn’t leave the cell willingly under any circumstances, if it came to the choice of the safety of her family and her incarceration. There wasn’t even a question of what she would choose.

Still, being locked in a fifteen by fifteen feet cube was hardly entertaining.

“Ra’s does.” Jason says from where he’s sat a bit further away from Tim, it was all hands on deck apparently. Enough for Jay to come out of hiding and help out. She was glad that he was here, if anyone could stop her, it would be Jason. Dick had the upper hand in combat abilities, but he’d hesitate because of her face, a hesitation that could cost him everything and a hesitation that Eleanor wasn’t willing to risk. Tim had a broken wrist, and Damian was a child, even if he was an insanely well trained child, he’s still ten years old.

Of course, Krypto never left Tim’s side for very long. Which had been as much of a surprise for Tim as it had for the rest of them.

“It’s not Ra’s.” Eleanor repeats for what feels like the hundredth time. “If it was Ra’s then he’d activated whatever programming was in my head when he tried to take over Damian’s body two months ago.”

It felt like years ago.

“I agree.” Damian says from his perch where he’s alternating from sharpening his katana and glaring at Tim. Eleanor wasn’t sure what annoyed the kid most, the fact that Krypto preferred Tim over Damian, or the fact that Tim was there to begin with. “Grandfather would not have wasted such a valuable resource to get my body, even if it meant losing a useful spy.”

There’s a compliment in there somewhere.

“That’s not the point.” Tim says slowly, annoyance colouring his tone. “It’s a dead Chinese dialect, as in no one speaks it. _I_ only recognize it because there’s very small, subtle similarities to Mandarin.”

“We’ll have to find a linguist who studies it then.” Dick says firmly, stopping from where he’d been pacing between Jay and Tim.

“It’s a dead dialect.” Tim repeats for the third time, “the only scripts I find of it is old, like _really_ old.”

“Ra’s old?”

“Older.”

“Play the video again.” Eleanor demands from behind the glass, immediately feeling four sets of eyes on her. It’s difficult not to feel like a lab rat whenever they do. Yet Tim reaches over and taps a few buttons before the screen facing her cell flickers to life with the same video they’d watched maybe one too many times by now.

It’s her, but not _her_. Watching herself stand stock still in front of the glass with her hands behind her back like a soldier on inspection sends chills up Eleanor’s spine. It looks so unnatural. She knows that she’s not the best at showing emotion but watching the programming is like seeing an empty husk of herself, no emotions, just cold hard eyes. In the video Dick and Tim are on the other side of the glass, Krypto is also there, pressing lightly against Tim’s leg, a low growl emanating from behind bared teeth. The programming’s face is blank and whenever Dick or Tim asks a question the reply is in a language that neither one of them can decipher. The first hour the programming had tried everything to get out of the cell, from pleading with Eleanor’s voice to almost injuring her shoulder on the reinforced glass door. They had to sedate it to get it to stop wounding her, when the programming had come to after a short nap it had tried to pretend to be her, only Krypto had kept growling at her, in Dick and Tim’s distraction the programming had almost escaped out the door if it hadn’t been for the super dog. When it was made clear that it didn’t understand—or more likely didn’t chose to respond to any questions, they had all but given up.

They sedated it— _her_ , again. Eleanor had woken up with a barely contained scream behind her lips and a sore shoulder.

It was surreal to see.

“This is ridiculous.” Jason mutters once the screen goes black. “It’s been a month, none of the therapy bullshit has worked, so what about Lilith Clay? Or Raven, or fucking _Manhunter_.”

“I’ve already contacted Lilith.” Dick replies. “I did as soon as we figured out what was wrong.”

“And?”

“And I haven’t heard anything back.”

“Fine, what about the rest of them?” Jason stands, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Last time I saw Raven was during… Conner’s memorial.” Tim says stiffly. “I haven’t seen her since.”

“So what? You’re telling me that all of your supposed _allies_ are unavailable?” Jason snaps finally, glaring from Tim to Dick as if it was their fault.

“Jay.” Eleanor starts and Jason huffs in annoyance.

“It’s bullshit. If Clay and Raven are out of the picture I’ll find J’onzz myself.” He starts packing up his gear while the rest of them watch in silence.

“He might not be on Earth, Jason.” Dick says. “I haven’t told the JL about—”

“I really don’t give a shit about the Justice League, Dickface.”

Dick glares, jaw clenching. “You might not, but if they find out we got a serious security leak _they_ might take action.”

That… hurts more than it should. Being called a security risk, even if it’s true. Though, she wasn’t very involved in League business, Gotham was more than enough for her, and in the past few months, even Gotham had been second priority.

“I’ll be subtle.” Jason snarks.

“Like a bull in a china shop.” Tim mutters under his breath.

“Fuck you, _replacement._ What the hell are you doing to fix things anyway, huh?! Beside getting your ass handed to you?” Krypto lets out a bark of warning when Jason suddenly takes an aggressive step towards Tim.

“Indeed, Drake.” Damian immediately jumps on Jason’s train of thought. “You are beyond useless—”

“Enough!” Eleanor snaps.

“Do not presume you may order me around!” Damian hisses back.

“Damian.” Dick sighs rubbing at his temples, “could you not right now? Please?”

Damian grumbles something under his breath in Arabic, shuffling away from the ledge and into the darkness with his katana, like the little psychopathic ninja he is.

“Jason.” She calls when Jay tears his angry gaze away from Tim and walks past her cell, following him as much as she can, Jason stops with his red helmet under his arm, arching a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Tell me you wouldn’t do the same and I won’t go.” He states.

Eleanor lets out a small laugh, letting the tension bleed from her shoulders. “Got me there, Jaybird.”

He scowls, but doesn’t protest the nickname like he used to. “I’ll find the Martian, he’ll dig around your head and get rid of whatever bullshit is stuck up there, sis. Then we’ll find out which asshole did it to begin with and put a bullet through their brain.”

“Jay.” Eleanor sighs.

“Metaphorically.” He shrugs. “Maybe.”

Part of her wants to snap that it’s not his decision whether some alien telepath is allowed to dig around in her brain. If it meant her family’s safety though… Eleanor would do anything, even let J’onn J’onzz poke through her psyche.

“Okay.” She nods, placing her hand on the glass. “Don’t—” _die_ “do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Jason’s features softens for a moment as if he can see straight through her.

“Yeah, sure Ella.” Jay shrugs. “Be back before you know it.”

Before Jason can get on his bike however, Dick steps forward and grabs his arm, and somehow Jason allows it without jerking his arm out of his grasp.

“Just stay safe, little wing.”

Eleanor doesn’t miss the way Tim tenses in his seat, the way his jaw clenches and how there’s a brief look of betrayal in his eyes before they grow cold and detached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm turning Krypto to Tim's emotional support dog, because they're both good boys that deserve all the love.  
> Oh and the poem is I Carry Your Heart With Me(I Carry It In My Heart) by E. E. Cummings  
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Can you hear my voice this time?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Yeah, with every broken bone_   
>  _I swear I lived_
> 
> “Timmy” Eleanor sing songs, bored out of her fucking mind.  
> A sigh. “Go to sleep, Eleanor.”

“Tim.” Eleanor says, sat on the floor of her cell, leaning against the glass. “Timothy.” She tries when she doesn’t get a response. Saying his name again under her breath does nothing, further away in the room Tim is still typing away on the computer with a _‘I’m pretending not to hear you’_ look on his face.

“Timmy” Eleanor sing songs, bored out of her fucking mind.

A sigh. “Go to sleep, Eleanor.”

“’m not tired.” She cranes her neck to get a better look over her shoulder.

“You’ve been awake for five days straight.”

“I think I can taste purple.” She nods smacking her lips together, her breath fogs up the glass. “Like grapes.”

Tim sighs again and Eleanor draws a circle on the glass, giggling to herself.

“Hey Tim.”

He grunts in annoyance, which is fair. Logically, she knows that she’s running on nothing and has been bugging him since Dick and Damian had left to deal with some Arkham emergency a couple of hours earlier. But even Alfred’s stern look had little effect, she didn’t want to sleep and lose herself again. After Jason had left she’d woken up missing a whole day, so nope, no sleeping for her.

It’s a bit difficult to find the right words though. “Guess what I want.”

“Grapes?”

“No—wait, yeah. Grapes.” Eleanor laughs. “And a bath. A bath would be great.”

“I can get you grapes, but no bath.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “You’ve been up to the penthouse—suite—thing. There’s a—what’s it called? A big bath.”

“A jacuzzi.” Tim supplies.

“With bubbles.”

Tim snorts. “Go to bed, Eleanor.”

She hums, then keeps humming that song that Dick likes, the one about t-shirts. But not really t-shirts, it had some other deeper meaning that she’s a little too… distracted to think about. It’s a nice tune though, if a little sad. But Dick liked it so that means she likes it too. Kind of.

“Hey Timmy.”

“Yes, Eleanor?” Tim sounds frustrated, but also a little fond? Almost.

She pauses, tries to remember what it was she had been thinking about.

“Do you like t-shirts?”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Tim look her way before he laughs under his breath. “Yeah. I like t-shirts.”

“Oh. That’s good.” She says. “It’s a good song.”

Silence permeates in the Bunker. Eleanor hums again to fill it. She doesn’t like silences, or did she? Maybe the programming liked silences and she didn’t really. Eleanor remembers growing up in silence and hadn’t liked it much, had hated it even worse after Dick had brought so much colour with him.

“Does colour sound to you?”

“What?”

“I dunno.” Eleanor sighs. “Hey Tim.”

This time he doesn’t respond. Frustratedly, Eleanor turns so that she’s leaning with her side against the glass, the uncomfortable position makes it a little easier to focus.

“Baby bird.”

“Eleanor.”

She smiles. “I love you, little brother.”

The typing stops, and Tim turns spluttering towards her with wide eyes.

“What?” He croaks.

“I love you, little brother.” Eleanor repeats. “Dick does too, and Alfie and Jason and Bruce and probably even Damian because he’s so jealous of you.” She pauses. “Though Jack is a massive dick. You shouldn’t stay there anymore.”

Tim keeps staring, mouth parted in surprise.

“You won’t stay there anymore right, Tim? Because he’s really a bad dad, even Bruce is—was a better dad and he wont win any prices for it.” She snorts. “Not anymore, anyway.”

“I—uh.”

“Like, the leaving you when you were a little kid is really bad, but like the homophobia is even worse.” She keeps babbling. “Cos you know you shouldn’t be like judged or anything because you like dicks. Dicks are great, I love Dick.”

Tim starts looking more pink by the minute.

“Dick’s dick is great too.”

“Okay!” Tim shouts, his face completely red, “I don’t need to hear about that!”

“I miss sex.” She complains. “I haven’t had sex in a month, Tim. In. A. Month.”

He makes another noise that sounds painful.

“Sex with Dick is amazing. I mean sex in general is pretty good, but like it’s even better with someone you love.” She adds. “You know what I mean?”

“Sure.” Tim squawks, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Yeah—” She pauses, frowning. “Wait, you do?! You’re sixteen Timmy! You’re not supposed to know about sex!” She pushes herself up to her knees, pushing on the reinforced glass with both hands. “No I meant, doing sex. You’re still a virgin right?”

“I’m _not_ going to answer that.”

“Don’t do sex.” She says. “There’s like a billboard saying that somewhere right?”

“I think it’s more, ‘don’t do drugs’.” Tim mutters.

“Oh yeah, drugs are bad too. Don’t do drugs, or sex. Cos you’re sixteen, you shouldn’t be worrying about sex. You should be thinking about school and stuff.” She pauses. “Don’t do what I did and graduate early. It was a really bad decision.”

Decision comes out funny, like ‘dechichion’.

“Sure, Eleanor.” Tim agrees, still sounding mortified.

“I lost my virginity in a trailer, parked at the back of a circus in France.” She shares, ignoring how Tim hides his face in his hands, saying something she can’t quite catch under his breath. “I don’t regret it, but that’s the point, you should only be with someone you really love, so don’t rush it.” She finishes her lecture with a half nod, realizing that she’s closed her eyes halfway through. Blinking, she opens them and looks out of her glass prison to where Tim’s sat, when he looks up there’s a pleading look in his eyes.

“Go to sleep, please, Eleanor.”

“No, if I sleep I won’t be Eleanor anymore.” She taps her fingers against the glass. “Eleanor anymore, that rhymes.”

He studies her in silence before scoffing, “you’re doing this on purpose!” He accuses, pointing at her.

Eleanor hums smiling, closing her eyes, and shuffling down to lean against the glass with her shoulder again. She curls her knees up in a fetal position. It would be really easy to just, sleep like this. It was even alluring to think about, to just drift in the darkness. She jerks her head up, forcing her eyes open again.

Tim’s sat down on the other side of the cell, his back to the glass and Krypto curled to his side. There’s still a faint blush on his cheeks, but there’s also a peaceful look about him as he runs his fingers through the super dogs fur.

“I meant what I said,” she says quietly. “You shouldn’t go back to your dad.”

Tim leans his head back, closing his eyes. “He’s still my dad.”

“I’m going to be brutally honest here Tim, but only because I care about you, okay? Jack is a fucking asshole.”

Tim snorts.

“Seriously.”

“Yeah I know.” He looks at Krypto when the dog whines, putting a paw on Tim’s leg. “Contrary to popular belief, I know what mom and dad did was— _is_ considered child abuse. But he’s still my dad, Eleanor. Even though he’s a shitty one. He’s the only one I got.”

She wishes she could hug him.

“He threw you out of your own home over something you have no control over Tim, you don’t deserve that shit in your life. And every time you come here after going back to him you look like—” Eleanor stops, trying to find a word that's less harsh.

“Like you need a hug?” She offers eventually, in reality when he let his guard slip even though if it was just for a second he looked so crushed, like living with his dad was sapping away at his spirit.

“It’s not that bad, Eleanor.” Tim sighs. “He—it, I just don’t mention it. We don’t talk about it at all and—” he shrugs, “besides, I only mentioned it to him to begin with because I wanted to provoke him.”

She stares into the side of his head. “Don’t excuse his behaviour.”

“I’m not—”

“Tim—”

“I’m _not_.” He snaps, fingers tightening in Krypto’s fur. “I’m not.” He murmurs.

“Okay.” She breathes. “Don’t go back there. Please.”

“Then _where_ am I supposed to go?” Tim asks quietly.

“Here, the penthouse.”

“Eleanor.”

“No really, Tim.” She implores, “there’s more than enough room.”

“I can’t stay here.” He says in the same quiet tone, tilting his head to meet her eyes. “Damian. Do I need to say more?”

Her first instinct is to say _‘I’ll protect you’_ but that makes her scoff for two reasons; Tim doesn’t need protection, he can do that himself, and well, containment chamber. At Tim’s raised eyebrow she waves her hand dismissively.

“I’m slightly more coherent at the minute, but my brain is still running catch up.” Eleanor blurts out. “What I meant though is, Alfred will protect you.” Then, eyeing the super dog she adds. “And Krypto is never far from you either.”

The dog barks in affirmation.

“Sure, but what’s really the difference? Dad accepts me in the house as long as he doesn’t have to hear about me being gay. And sure, I don’t think anyone has any issues with that here, but instead my life is under threat by a ten-year-old assassin. And Dick already made his standpoint clear so, I’m about as welcome here as I am there.” Tim grimaces. “I get what you’re trying to do, really. But with dad at least I don’t have to watch my back constantly.”

She hates it. Hates the logic behind it, hates that he has had to think it through like this.

“Yeah, me too.” Tim sighs.

“Sorry.” Eleanor blows up her cheeks like a pufferfish, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Then rests her head against her knees. Tim hums noncommittally.

Trying to channel Dick’s optimism, “when I’m… better, I can, talk? To your dad.”

Tim doesn’t say anything.

“And if he’s still being a judgemental jerk, we’ll get you out of there.”

“You think you can change his mind?”

Eleanor lets out a held breath. “Everyone has potential to change.” She offers Tim a hopeful smile. “Maybe he just needs to know what it means for you.”

It’s a bit of a naïve view. Jack Drake hadn’t really made any great effort to talk to Tim as far as she knew. He had made an effort to hang out more with his son after he came out of his coma, but from what Tim told her it had been things like fishing and baseball games, things that Tim wasn’t really interested in.

“Maybe.” He murmurs. “… thank you Eleanor, it’s nice to know that—. Thank you.”

“I’d say anytime but, brainwashed.” She says lightly. When Tim doesn’t laugh, she coughs to cover up a grimace. “Sorry, bad joke.”

Tim smiles though there’s no joy on his face.

“I don’t want to sleep.” Eleanor admits into their silence. “I keep losing time. I’m terrified that it just won’t be me one day. That I won’t wake up.”

“We wont let that happen.” Tim says, eyes shining with unwavering resolve.

Maybe it’s not as foolish as she thought to believe it.

“Hey Tim.” She begins softly.

Tim’s lips splits into a grin and he ducks his head while shaking it. “Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you, baby bird. And… Bruce would be too.”

He looks away with a sad smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter but one I loved writing!  
> Thanks for reading, leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed it!  
> Stay safe out there :)


	8. I will scream them loud tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is my fight song, Take back my life song_   
>  _'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me_
> 
> “How dangerous?”  
> “Could this hurt anyone else?”  
> “No… But if it’s not done right, it could possibly leave you brain dead.”  
> “Okay.” Eleanor breathes out, that was a pretty bad worst case scenario.

The sand is warm in her hands, spilling through her fingers like liquid. The sun is hot but not overbearing and further down towards the shoreline there’s squeals of laughter from her family. Jason picks up Cassandra and lobs her deeper into the ocean while Stephanie cackles brightly filming the whole thing on her eggplant coloured phone. Cass appears a moment later, far closer than Jason threw her and splashes water up, completely drenching a spluttering Jay before he gives chase after her.

Eleanor leans back on her towel, feeling pleased and content, tilting her head to watch Alfred and Bruce under a parasol closer to the beach house. Barbara is sat on the porch, a large sunhat with a pale yellow ribbon on her head, her eyes closed as she enjoys the sun. Bruce meets her gaze and raises the glass filled with iced lemonade in greeting while Alfred continues to raptly read the book that Jason had lent him with a small private smile on his lips.

Further along the beach Tim laughs loudly as Conner throws a ball with enough force to cause a small sonic boom into the sky with Krypto quick on its trail. Conner says something, elbowing Tim who’s face looks like it’s about to split in two from how widely he’s grinning. Not a second later the super dog reappears with a slobbery ball in his mouth and all but tackles Conner into the sand, Tim’s laughter rings higher as he watches his best friend get dribbled on.

Her attention is abruptly drawn back to herself when a cool and wet toddler lands in her lap, Eleanor squeaks from the shock of it.

“Mama!” Her baby giggles. “Mama!”

“Hi, littlest bird!” Eleanor coos.

“Mama! Look!”

She follows the small pointing finger to the sand castle built on the darkened shore. “Oh wow, did you make that?”

“Dada!”

Eleanor laughs, giddy with happiness. “Daddy helped?”

Her baby nods, and Eleanor leans in to rub their noses together and gets rewarded with a bubbly toddler giggle.

“Where’d your daddy go, huh?” She murmurs.

“Right here!” Dick chuckles, also wet and cold from the ocean, he wraps his arm around her back, making her squirm again. He laughs at her protest, kissing her cheek with a loud, ‘mwah’, then turns to their laughing toddler to blow raspberries against a summer kissed tummy.

“Dada!” Tiny chubby arms reaches out for Dick and Eleanor lets the small toddler go so that Dick can wrap his arms around them both. She leans back ever so slightly to enjoy the picture of her family, all of them, Dick, and their baby with dark hair, sun kissed skin and starting sky blue eyes. And beyond them, Alfred, Bruce and Barbara, Jason, Cass, and Stephanie. Tim and even Conner. They’re all happy, it’s absolutely perfect.

It’s all she’s ever wanted.

Eleanor opens her mouth to tell them— _I love you all, you make me happy, you’re everything I need._ Only no words escape her lips, her hand flies up to her throat and suddenly she can’t _breathe._ The sound of her family’s laughter fades to bubbling water as she starts drowning on dry land. She coughs, clawing at her own throat, trying to speak. Something pulls at her, something deep and powerful that just wants her to give in, to give up. While she struggles to stay afloat, to draw air into her drowning lungs. Beside her, Dick hoists their baby up into the air with a joyful squeal, and Eleanor slowly suffocates.

The fall from her cot to her hands and knees on the hard metal floor startles her enough to make that barely contained scream fly free from her lips. Eleanor struggles through tear blurred vision, gasping for air like she’s been depraved of it for several minutes. Through her spluttering, coughing and dry heaving she sees the shift of someone behind her and Eleanor allows instinct to take control. She kicks out with her leg to try and catch her opponent off guard, only due to her sluggishness or maybe her adversaries’ reflexes, Eleanor makes no contact and when she raises her head, she stares back into Cassandra’s amber coloured eyes.

“Fuck.” Eleanor curses, disoriented.

Cassandra holds her hands up like she’s appeasing a wild animal or a victim of assault. “Calm.” She says in a soft, gentle voice.

“Cass.” She croaks, sitting back on her legs, reaching up to wipe away tears with trembling hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Did not hurt me.” Cassandra replies easily, signing at the same time. She moves with the grace of a ballerina when she sits down cross legged in front of Eleanor, reaching out to grip Eleanor’s hands with her calloused yet gentle fingers. “Relax.” She demands quietly. “Breathe.”

Eleanor draws in a hesitant breath, when it’s clear she can actually breathe properly she takes another, and then another. Unsure as to why she thought she couldn’t breathe to begin with. Cassandra waits patiently, squeezing her hands together rhythmically.

“When did you get back from Hong Kong?” Eleanor asks when she finally finds her voice.

Cassandra hesitates then lets go of Eleanor’s hands to sign _“Four days ago.”_

“Four?” Dread settles in her stomach. “How long have I been… gone?”

“Six.” Cassandra replies.

Six.

Six _days._

_Oh God._

Tears blur her vision again, her stomach does flips, Eleanor turns again from her sister and gags on air. Trying to curl in on herself, trying to hold herself together. Her fingers curl into her dirty hair, tugging and pulling it in both despair and frustration. First it had just been minutes, then it progressed to a full day, and now she’s lost _six_. When would it stop? When would she no longer come back? When was the last time she would see, feel and touch being _her_ and not this stupid fucking programming in her brain?!

Eleanor is so tired.

She just wants to be able to see her family without the subtle reflection of glass between them, without being locked inside a cell. She wants to see the sky and feel grass beneath bare feet. She wants to run and feel the air through her hair, she wants to fall and scrape her knee. She wants to feel the freedom of swimming in the sea, or floating in the zero G room in the Watchtower.

She wants to eat godly amounts of unhealthy takeout food with shitty chopsticks from that downtown restaurant, watch a terrible movie that Dick loves and fall asleep on the couch cuddled to his chest. She wants to read with Jason in a quiet corner of a library, manor or public, then eat chili dogs on top of a skyrise while making fun of c-list villains like Kite Man and Condiment King. She wants to see Tim laugh again, and help him understand that he doesn’t have to hide who he is. To make sure that he knows he’s _loved_ and _wanted._ She wants to go to one of Cass’s ballet performances, be awed by how good she is at it and then get her ass handed to her while sparring with her little sister afterwards. She even wants to try and connect with Damian, find out what he likes to do that doesn’t involve violence. Help him be a child for once in his life.

Eleanor takes a shuddering breath, raising downturned head to look at Cass.

“Sorry.” She apologizes again, unsure of what she’s sorry for, but feeling the urge to say it anyway. Maybe she needs it because it’s her own fault for being in this mess to begin with. _If_ she’d just been more careful. _If_ she hadn’t left her family for two years. _If, if, if._

“Come.” Cass gestures and tugs on Eleanor until she’s curled up with her head on the youngers lap. Cassandra soothingly runs her fingers through Eleanor’s hair, not caring at all how dirty it actually is.

It feels like she’s got a lump in her throat. Like she wants to cry or apologize again but at the same time being too exhausted to do either. She reaches for Cassandra’s free hand, feeling a bit more human when her sister’s slender but powerful fingers grasps hers. At the contact—touch of another person.

Eleanor doesn’t know how long they sit like this, outside her cage it’s dark, only fleeting computer screens flickering over data, and the faint pale yellow of the cell lighting them up.

“How bad was… it? Was _I_?”

Cassandra’s hand stills for a second, then resumes. “Taunting. No damage.” She pauses. “No, physical, damage.”

Eleanor curls in a bit more, swallowing back bile.

“You will be okay.” Cassandra assures. “I promise.”

“I’m not worried about me, Cass.” Eleanor slowly sits up to face her sister.

_“You worry for us.”_ She signs.

Eleanor nods.

_“We are tough. We don’t break as easy as you think.”_

That forces a smile on her lips. “I know that, but everyone can feel helpless and you know as well as I do that we do dangerous and stupid shit when we feel like that.”

Cassandra laughs, nodding, then signs with a bit of exasperation in her eyes. _“Trust us.”_

“Always.” It wasn’t about trust, it never had been. Her sisters laugh makes her smile though and she doesn’t want to think about any issues a moment longer. Eleanor clears her throat. “Tell me about Hong Kong.”

Cassandra does, alternating between signing through ASL and talking, telling her about cases she’d taken, about the friends she’d made going undercover at a school, and how now she would like to go back for real. They talk for what feels like hours, Eleanor telling her about things that has happened in Gotham—the things that she’s been privy to, Cassandra regaling her of the martial training teachers she’d found, that quickly turns into her dancing passion, ballet is her favourite, but she likes other types too. Alfred comes in a while later, the lights flickering on outside of her cell making both her and Cass turn their heads, he greets Eleanor warmly and then brings back some sandwiches and tea for them all to eat.

She finds herself mostly forgetting about everything plaguing her, listening to Alfred talk about recipes traded between himself and Martha Kent, and the baking rivalry that had somehow formed. (Alfred insists that his chocolate chip cookies are better, however he simply _must_ bow out to Mrs. Kent’s apple pie.) Cassandra starts to happily retell about her time at one of the schools in Hong Kong and a new discussion opening up for proper schooling in Gotham. Cass seems so very enthusiastic about it. Eleanor swears that she’s going to try and make it happen if— _when_ she gets better.

Alfred is barely out of the cell before the door to the elevator opens and a half dead on his feet Dick Grayson steps out looking like he’s not slept in days. She imagines their eyes meet across the room, sees the small part of his lips and the whisper of _‘Eleanor’_ , before he’s running.

She just about manages to get up from the floor before Dick’s hands are cupping her cheeks and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips. When he pulls back enough for her to get a word in all she manages is his name before he’s kissing her again, she holds onto his arms as he peppers more kisses over her lips, cheek, and jaw. “Dick—,” she tries again only for him to interrupt her.

“I thought I’d never—” He stops, letting out a disbelieving laugh, pulling her tightly against him. “It doesn’t matter.” Dick whispers in her ear. She sees Cass leave and the glass wall go from see through to opaque to give them a modicum of privacy.

His relief bleeds over into her and Eleanor allows herself to relax into his arms, breathing in the scent of lavender laundry detergent, the citrusy shampoo Dick’s been using since _forever_ and that unique fragrance that is just him.

Eleanor wants to cry again, and beg his forgiveness yet all she can do is shudder when his hands rub over her shirt at the small of her back, and combs through her hair. Which—

“I’m dirty.” She says, muffled by his shoulder.

“Don’t care.” Dick’s arms tighten around her, she digs her fingers into the fabric of his tee. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” She presses her ear against his chest, hears his heart beat, slightly elevated from normal. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Dick’s laugh sounds on the verge of being a sob.

Instead of continuing that particular train of thought, she decides to change subject. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“It’s—uhm, it’s been a lot.” He pulls back, cupping her face again. Even though they’re the same height she always feels small when he does it. “You being AWOL but not really, Damian being well—Damian. And Jason’s reports, vague as they are, I have no idea if he’s found J’onzz or not yet. Cass has been a great help which is a huge relief, even Dames seem to respect her. Tim and Damian butted heads again, no permanent damage thankfully, Cass stepped in, in time to stop them.”

“How is Tim?”

Dick swallows, “he got some more bad news the other day.”

“What happened?”

“Wally called,” Dick’s heaves a world weary sigh, “Bart is, um… dead.”

“What?” Bewilderment sets in, “how? What the hell happened?”

“I don’t have all the details but there was some sort of nuke, Bart saved millions of people.”

She curses, pulling Dick into a hug. While she hadn’t known Bart personally, she _did_ know Wally—and Bart was his second cousin once removed. And because Wally is Dick’s best friend, he’s someone that she considers close to the family. She would like to say she can’t even imagine losing someone like that, but that would be a lie, twice over, in fact.

And Tim… now he’d lost two of his best friends in quick succession.

“How is Tim?” She repeats quietly.

Dick’s breath tickles her neck when he replies. “He doesn’t want to talk to me about it.”

“But he’s…? Is he talking to anyone? What about Wonder Girl? Cassie Sandsmark.”

“I… I don’t know.” Dick runs his fingers through his hair and Eleanor gestures for them both to sit on the cot. “Every time I try talking to him about anything other than a case, we end up yelling at each other.”

Dick leans forward, resting his forehead in the palm of his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

How it hurts to see him so lost.

“Your best.” She says, leaning into his side. “You’re doing the best you can, you always have. And that’s what you’re going to keep doing because that’s just who you are, Sunshine.”

He tilts his head to look at her, smiling wryly. “I miss you.”

She misses him too, more than she can possibly express in words. Which is a little weird, seeing as he’s sat right next to her. But at the same time makes a hell of a lot of sense, being locked up like she is, even though she sees him—and Dick her, every day, is not quite the same as what they’re used to. Eleanor misses the simplistic action of just sleeping in the same bed, or going about their morning routines together.

She can’t do much about that now though.

“What about Wally? How’s he handling everything?”

“He wasn’t very talkative when we spoke,” Dick admits. “But he’s got Linda, and I did tell him that if he ever needed anything…”

“You’d be there.” Eleanor nods. Sounds like Dick alright. “If you speak to him again, will you tell him…? Tell him I’m sorry, and that he’s going to be okay?”

Dick clears his throat. “We’ll get you out of here and you can tell him yourself.”

She hums noncommittally, then reaches out to touch the tips of her fingers to his chin, gently coaxing him to look at her. “Are _you_ talking to someone?”

“I’m talking to you.” Dick offers, he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I know, but… there are things you don’t tell me. Which is fine, as long as you tell _someone_. Maybe Roy? Or Babs?”

“Eleanor.”

“Don’t ‘Eleanor’ me, Dick.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds vaguely annoyed.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to burden them with anything.”

She scoffs.

“Really, Ellie. Babs knows the situation anyway, and Roy… well he’s got Lian. He doesn’t need to be involved in all this.”

“You are so stubborn.”

His lips twitches to an almost smile before grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “Pot-kettle.” He murmurs.

Eleanor shakes her head, pulling him in so that she can kiss him properly, then rests her head on his shoulder, huddling closer together. “We’ll get through this.” She squeezes his arm.

Dick smiles wryly. “That’s a very optimistic thing to say.”

“Entirely your fault.”

~*~

Another three days pass before anything happens. Eleanor spends her time the best she can, using the minimal space for any kind of exercising, playing chess with Alfred—though she’s not allowed to move any pieces herself. Tim doesn’t show at all, even though she asks for him and about him. Dick tells her he’s fine, but taking some time away. Which Eleanor guesses would be good if it weren’t for the fact that Tim hadn’t taken a break once in his life, so she worries. And works out. And worries some more.

Cass’s appearance as Batgirl in Gotham helps take some stress away from Dick’s split attention—seriously, between Damian, Batman, the Justice League, his civilian appearances—including but not limited to, galas, charities, and his work at various shelters. Not to mention well, _her_ —because yes, at this point she’s considering herself a stress, it’s a miracle that he’s kept it together as well as he has, so she can’t help but be eternally grateful for her little sisters reappearance.

So Eleanor exercises, talks to whoever doesn’t have their hands full at the moment, exercises some more, and luckily doesn’t lose any more days when she sleeps. With Alfred’s help she goes through some WE related papers, trying to keep up with her actual job even though Lucius had been notified of her extended absence—though not in too much detail, just enough to make sure to change anything security related that Eleanor had a hand in. Which… is a lot. She finds herself hating the programming more than ever, it wasn’t enough to mess with her family and vigilante life, now her civilian side was getting hit as well.

She feels increasingly more and more restless, but on the third day the whole Bunker comes alive with activity as Jason comes roaring in on his bike with surprisingly not the Martian Manhunter riding with him—though the thought of J’onn J’onzz riding a bike is in itself a mildly amusing picture. Instead it’s a green robed figure that most of them recognize even before she pulls her hood away to reveal red hair.

Dick is across the room in the blink of an eye, scooping up the woman in a bear hug as Eleanor steps closer to the glass separating herself from the outside world. A warmth spreads in her chest, and she recognizes the feeling as hope.

“Jay.” Eleanor greets her little brother when they all move over. Her gaze flits from Lilith to Jason and the rugged unshaved five ‘o’clock shadow he’s sporting. He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes and bruises on his jaw. There’s so much more she wants to say… but maybe now she could say it without glass between them.

“Told you I’d find someone.” He nods to Lilith.

“Eleanor.” The telepath says warmly. “It’s been a while.”

Eleanor huffs a small laugh. “About five months, last time we saw each other was New Year’s.”

“Can you help?” Dick asks.

Lilith glances back up at her, and Eleanor finds herself unable to look away form her green eyes, almost being pulled into them, it’s almost like watching a car crash, you don’t want to look, but you’re unable to actually pull your eyes away. When Lilith blinks Eleanor does too, rapidly, and shakes her head in confusion.

“I don’t sense any telepathic manipulations in your mind, but a skilled psychic could hide it in your subconsciousness and instil some sort of subliminal… code, if you will, to activate a hidden personality. I’d have to have a deeper delve to—”

“Do it.” Eleanor insists, jaw clenching.

There’s a look of trepidation on Lilith’s face. “It will hurt.”

“I can take pain.”

For a second it looks like Lilith want’s to tell her something, opening her mouth but then closing it again. She nods, turning to Dick. “Do you have a way to restrain her? So she won’t hurt herself.”

“I—“ Dick’s face morphs from relief to worry. “Going into her head can make her hurt herself?”

Lilith shakes her head. “No, it’s the pain. You’ve seen what I can do to people, Dick. I’d rather Eleanor didn’t try to rip her eyes out, or something equally grotesque.”

“I’d prefer that too.” Eleanor chuckles nervously.

“Okay, yeah.” Dick looks around, running his hand over his hair, “we could modify something.” He wanders away, and after a second Jason shrugs and follows him. Leaving Eleanor with Lilith, and Damian lurking on one of the overhead scaffolding, watching the entire thing with a critical eye.

Lilith sighs. “I have to stress this, Eleanor. If this is another psychic, it will be incredibly painful, and dangerous.”

“How dangerous?” Could her family be hurt?

The telepath presses her lips together.

“Lilith, could this hurt anyone else?”

“No… But if it’s not done right, and by that I mean if you can’t… help yourself, it could possibly leave you braindead.”

“Okay.” Eleanor breathes out, that was a pretty bad worst case scenario. “When you say, ‘help yourself’…?”

“I can only act as a… a sort of highway, linking you between the gaps or damages in your mind.” Lilith gestures with her hands. “I can’t say anything specific at the moment, I’d need to do a deeper scan of your psyche first. But most likely it’s going to be you doing the majority of the work, and in that case, if you take too long, do the wrong thing or make a mistake it could result in permanent brain damage. It’s not a straight science. It could be, at worst, brain death, but other after effect might be memory loss, deficiency in hand-eye coordination. Muscle and speech damage—”

“Okay, okay.” Eleanor holds her hand up as if to say stop, and Lilith looks pained.

“I’m sorry.” 

Eleanor wets her lips, glancing in the direction Dick and Jason had left in. “Do me a favour, Lilith. Don’t mention the side effects to them.”

“Eleanor.” Lilith starts, she cuts her off.

“Promise me that, okay? It’s not something they need to know.” She had to do this, and if they knew the risks they’d argue her into trying something else first. Eleanor knew that, and the thought of spending another second in the containment cell had her wanting to rip her hair out.

“Lilith.” Eleanor prompts when the other woman doesn’t reply. “Promise me.”

She gets a sharp nod in reply and Eleanor turns to look at Damian still perching on the support beams over them. “You too, Damian. Don’t breathe a word.”

For a second Damian is silent, then he huffs. “I will not reveal anything to Grayson or Todd. The plan is adequate, your compromised position is having adverse effects on my training. I wish to get rid of it just as you do.”

Good to know that Damian got his priorities straight.

Twenty minutes later Eleanor finds herself out of her cell for the first time in over a month, only to be strapped down to a medical gurney, immobile save for her fingers and toes.

“Good thing I don’t have merinthophobia.” She jokes when she spots Dick’s grim face out of the corner of her eye. He rolls his eyes, walking closer, brushing their fingers together.

“I think if you had a fear of being tied down we would have known about it years ago.”

“We?” Eleanor chuckles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Boy Hostage.”

Dick snorts, shaking his head.

She smiles. “I can’t wait to sleep in our bed again.”

“It’s been awfully cold without you.” Dick smiles back. “I made reservations at the restaurant downtown that you love.” He adds.

Her laugh sounds strained, if he notices he doesn’t say anything. “Great. We can bring everyone. A family outing, even Damian can come.”

“I’m sure he’d love that.” They both ignore the hissing sound of disapproval from Damian further away. Eleanor shifts to the left side of her where Jason is stood.

“You’ll come too right Jay?”

Jason gives her a shrug and a nod. “Sure, Ella.”

She smiles again, fighting back tears. It would be okay, she would be okay and then she’d be back with her family for real. She just had to fight one more time.

She wishes Tim were here.

“Are we ready?” Lilith asks softly by the foot of the bed. “Once we begin we can’t stop.” The telepath warns. Eleanor breathes out a quiet ‘yes’, and Dick squeezes her fingers and whispers ‘I love you’.

For a second everything is quiet, she swears they could hear a pin drop. At first it’s a pinprick on her temples, like someone poking with a needle or prodding her with sharp fingernails. Then that sensation pierces through her skin, just her head at first, behind her eyes, and then all over her body. It feels like she’s being dipped in molten metal and at the same time like someone’s blasting high pitched noises straight into her ear. She bites back the first impulse to scream, trapping the noise stubbornly behind her clenched teeth.

When the sensation of being torn apart and put together again intensifies a whimper escapes her throat. She hears someone talking, voices blurring together to form unintelligible noises around her. A fire hot knife cuts her open, tearing her apart to reveal the mess of flesh and bone underneath her skin. Clawing and ripping, greedily digging fingers into bone to break and tear apart. Carving and branding her until she’s nothing.

She needs it to stop. Please make it stop. _Please make it stop._

Eleanor screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason to the rescue! :D  
> Also I don't read much Flash comics so any and all information about Bart/Wally comes from, partially Titans comics and google, so that's why it's purposely vague. And I mention it only to torture Tim some more, but don't worry, he's going to get better, soon. Maybe...  
> Also, also, anyone else just love Cassandra Cain? She's so awesome, and I like the idea of her having difficulty enough talking to rely heavily on ASL. It fits in with her ability to read body language as an actual language!  
> Hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> So one of the main purposes of me writing this is to improve, so constructive criticism is very welcome!   
> Stay safe out there. <3


	9. Without you there's holes in my soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fight for yourself_   
>  _You must fight for yourself_   
>  _No one is safe here_
> 
> “What the hell is going on?”  
> “I have no idea.” Dick admits. “Lilith?”  
> There’s no answer in the nothingness.

Two months ago, Dick Grayson thought that things in his life were going pretty well, him and Ellie had been looking at apartments in downtown Gotham, while staying at the manor after ninjas had attacked and tried to take Damian. _(Which had been a debacle in its own right, but they sorted it out.)_ He liked the work he did at the shelters in Gotham, and the various support groups he helped run, even though he did miss being a cop. _(It still wasn’t easy to talk about what Catalina Flores did to him, or Roland Desmond for that matter, but he was getting there)_. He’d just finished upgrading the Nightwing suit to be more resistant to blows but at the same time still allowed him to move like he wanted to—on top of that he’d just busted a crime ring peddling that new and dangerously addictive drug, handed the case over to the GCPD, or rather, to Renee Montoya, since she was among the few still working with them after the gang wars.

Things had been good. Great even.

Then the whole thing with Superboy Prime happened. Dick almost died, would have if it hadn’t been for Conner Kent, which in itself was agonizing because his little brother’s best friend had died and there had been nothing Dick could do but watch two superpowered beings going toe to toe with each other.

Then not soon after that Bruce had died. Leaving Dick with the heavy burden of Batman _(—no, seriously, the cowl is literally heavy to wear, and on top of that it has a cape. Y’know, the first thing he’d gotten rid of when he became Nightwing.)_ Not to mention putting a strain on the relationship with the love of his life, looking after said love of his life’s little psychopathic-but-in-desperate-need-of-some-moral-guidance half-brother, and the whole thing with Tim, which granted, he could have played better, but Damian _needed_ it before he murdered someone, again.

Then of course, because things can never be simple—who’s he kidding, his whole life was _anything_ _but_ simple. _(See falling in love with his… adopted father’s/guardian’s biological daughter.)_ Eleanor had been conditioned to spy on them by… they still had no idea who.

Watching her try and keep it together for everyone else’s benefits throughout this month had been hell. Not being able to comfort her, and then watching that blankness of the programming take control of her. Dick prided himself on reading people, just like his mom used to, but reading the programming was like trying to read a brick wall. There hadn’t been anything there but cold, calculated and quite vicious coding. It had hurt to look at her beautiful face and not recognize the person behind her usually warm and caring eyes.

Just as it hurts to watch Eleanor thrash against the binds holding her like she’s on fire, crying out for it to stop.

Dick grips her hand tighter, looking over to where Lilith’s stood with a look on her face that’s too empty and too full at the same time.

“What the hell are you doing to her?” Jason snaps from the other side of the medical bed.

Dick trusts Lilith with his life, she’s had his back throughout his career as a Titan and beyond that. But he can’t help but worry either.

“Lilith?”

“She’s struggling against it!” She bites out, sounding out of breath.

“Is there something we can do?” Dick asks, he just wants to feel useful.

Lilith grunts, “maybe…” then walks around them to place her hands over Eleanor’s temples.

Dick watches Eleanor strain against the bindings holding her down, tears falling from the corners of her eyes, her desperate cries for help sounding more hoarse by the minute. If there was anything he could do to lessen her pain, he would, in a heartbeat.

“I can send you into her psyche,” Lilith murmurs, sounding slightly less strained now. “You’ll take some of the strain of going through what she needs to go through, but, and I really need to stress this…” Lilith pauses, breath catching. “You can’t interact with anything, and you really _can’t_ _touch_ _anything_. It could damage her mind.”

Anything. “Do it.” He says.

“I’m coming too,” Jason adds firmly, and Dick can’t really find a reason as to why not allow it, so he glances to Lilith who nods jerkily.

They arrange some chairs, Dick is acutely aware that Damian is glaring dagger into the side of his head once he’s sat down. He tries to offer him a reassuring smile, in which Damian just huffs and looks away. If Dick weren’t so good at reading people he probably wouldn’t have noticed that small look of concern making itself visible in Damian’s eyes. Which—god Dick is so proud of him, a month ago anything they did that wasn’t to continue Damian’s training would have been met with indifference. It was proof that all the kid really needed was someone who looked out for him, and see him more than a weapon.

_“Try to relax, and remember, do not touch_ anything. _”_ Lilith’s voice echoes in his mind, familiar and foreign all at once. Dick follows her instructions by taking deep breaths, thinking about Eleanor. About her hair, long enough to reach the small of her back, dark as the night and felt like silk when he ran his fingers through it. The twitch of her full lips and the little scrunch of her nose whenever she found something amusing. That fond glint in her brown-almost-black eyes when she looked at the people she loved. Dick thinks about how Eleanor makes him feel like he’s the most important person in the world when she’s near him, and how his heart always skips a beat when he hears the sound of her laughter. He thinks about how much he loves her, and how far he would go to see her happy.

When Dick opens his eyes, he’s standing in nothing. It makes his stomach flip in the way it does whenever he’s pushing his limits in a tricky jump or acrobatic move. Tentatively, he takes a step forward, only to see the nothingness ripple away from him, like he’s stood in shallow water.

“What the hell is going on?”

Dick spins on the spot to see Jason next to him, they keep eye contact for a second before Jason looks around again.

“Dick?”

“I have no idea.” Dick admits. “Lilith?”

There’s no answer in the nothingness.

Then suddenly there’s light far away, like looking through a tunnel. Items appear right in front of him like… like that scene in the Matrix where weapons appear on shelves at the pace of a speeding train. Only it’s wood and stone, and then furniture that looks all too familiar.

“The manor?” Jason turns on the spot.

And it is, strikingly recognizable, they’re stood in the foyer, the chandelier that Dick himself had swung from several times despite Bruce’s and Alfred’s disapproval, hanging above them. To either side of them the two curved staircases leading up to the second floor arcs out in a bend, and the red rug over stone floor is spotless. As is the various pieces of art that fill the large area. It’s exactly like Dick remembers it looking when he first stepped in through the heavy doors, about fifteen or sixteen years ago.

Dick catches Jason’s teal eyes again, and shrugs in confusion.

Both of them snap their heads to the right at the same time when they hear noises from the family room. When they get there, the door is open, and inside there is a small girl sat on one of the uncomfortable couches, she’s not older than six, Dick thinks, but he recognizes Eleanor anyway. She’s reading a book, her brow furrowed in concentration, there is no one else in the room and she doesn’t notice Dick or Jason by the door.

“Is that a dictionary?” Jason breathes over Dick’s shoulder. The book in her lap is indeed a big blue Oxford English Dictionary.

“Why would she be reading a dictionary?” Dick asks, he moves into the room, yet little Eleanor doesn’t look up from the book, flipping through pages like she’s searching for something.

She mouths something, and suddenly Dick is struck by emptiness, like his heart has been hollowed out of his torso. He reaches up automatically, touching his chest to confirm that his heart is still beating. It is, but the feeling doesn’t go away, in fact it feels like it’s getting worse. Dick looks over to Jason, and sees a similar feeling displayed in his eyes. Is this what Eleanor had been feeling growing up? Abandoned and alone?

“Young miss, what are you doing?” The voice startles both Dick and Jason, and maybe it shouldn’t come to anyone surprise that Alfred can, without fault, sneak up on them, even though this is just a memory. The old butler doesn’t seem to see them though, which is good as Eleanor glances up from her book and looks straight through Dick.

“Looking up definitions of words.”

“What perchance might those words be?”

Jason jumps out of the way when Alfred walks across the room to stand next to the couch.

“Love.” Eleanor says. “Father. Family.”

“Fucking hell.” Jason hisses under his breath. Pity and pain mingle together in Dick’s chest, he’d known that before he’d moved into the manor that she had been alone for the majority of her time. But she’d always played it off like it wasn’t that bad. Had Dick been blind to it? She’d never seemed like… like _this_ when they were young.

“Ah,” Alfred sounds just as lost as Dick feels. “And what did you find?”

“Love, an intense feeling of deep affection.” Little Eleanor reads. “Father, a man in relation to his child or children. Family, a group of one or more parents and their children living together as a unit.” She’s surprisingly articulate for a six-year-old.

She blinks up at Alfred with big eyes. “Am father and I, a family?”

“Of course you are.” Alfred replies kindly. “Your father may be a bit distant, my dear, but he loves you very much.”

“Oh… does that mean that you are my family too?”

“I would like to believe so.” Alfred sits down next to Eleanor on the couch, taking the large dictionary from her lap and places it on the coffee table in front of them. “What brought this on?”

Eleanor hesitates, wringing her hands together. “The older kids at school said that… that I was an orphan.”

“Well that is not quite true. You should not take what these children say to heart, my dear.”

“They’re being mean.” She mumbles, “what am I supposed to do?”

Alfred places a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You are a Wayne, you pick your battles. Do not let them pick you.”

Her nose wrinkles and for a moment Dick wants to laugh at how adorable she looks.

“What does that mean?”

Alfred chuckles warmly. Dick notices that the feeling of loneliness seems lessened, muted almost. Still there, but like someone hid it away.

“Allow me to show you, Miss. Perhaps a game of chess?”

“Okay!” Eleanor beams.

Together the of them get up to leave to what Dick can only assume is to the game room. Jason and Dick both make to follow them only for the room to suddenly fizzle out and they’re returned to that rippling nothingness.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Jason mutters.

“Did you feel that too? Like…” Dick gestures weakly with his hands. “Like…”

“Like a cold hand around the heart.”

He nods, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “Did she ever talk to you about growing up in the manor?”

“A little,” Jason shrugs. “Not in great detail. You?”

“She always brushed it off like it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Yeah well, dredging up old painful memories have never been a Bat forte.” Jason stuffs his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket, then grumbles when he pulls them out empty. “I guess Ella’s mind is a no smoke zone.”

“Thought you stopped that horrible habit.”

“Judgy.” Jason glares. “I don’t criticize you for your compulsive cereal addiction.”

Dick fights a smile, gasping in mock shock, and placing a hand over his heart. “It’s _not_ compulsive.”

“Dickie, I _lived_ with you and Ella for months. I saw the cupboards, not to mention that fake wall behind the gear.”

“That—wait you knew about the fake wall?”

Jason gives him a look that says ‘duh’.

“Ellie didn’t even know about it.”

“You’re kidding me right?” Jason actually laughs in his face. “She always _knew_ , Dick. Trying to hide anything from that woman is almost as bad as trying to hide things from Alfred. You’re just not going to win.”

Well… okay maybe that was true. Eleanor always complained that everyone around her was too stubborn, but she could compete with all of them. Wily woman.

“She let me keep it.”

“Mhmm, just as you let her nit-pick about the coffee and the tea.”

They do say that compromises build stronger relationships. He’s about to open his mouth to joke—something about compromises and how Ellie wanted the tea and coffee in separate cupboards. (“Because there is no way I’ll have my tea tainted by that foul liquid, Richard.”) He suggested different shelves and she insisted on different cupboards. So they “compromised” and went with different cupboards. But before he can even start on the first vowel the nothingness once again takes shape.

This time it’s mountainous terrain, a village that looks abandoned in the distance and snow gently falling from the darkened sky. Despite the fact he doesn’t feel cold, even when the wind ruffles through his t-shirt and jeans. In front of them there’s a warehouse, and Dick doesn’t need to even look at Jason to be able to confirm that it’s _that_ warehouse. Because Jason inhales sharply, and before Dick can say anything to calm his brother— _It’s not real Little Wing, we’re not actually in Bosnia—_ he’s overcome with a deep sense of urgency and dread, his heartbeat picks up alarmingly, and his breath catches in his chest.

“No…” Jason croaks out, Dick ignores the turmoil building in his chest, pressing his hand between Jason’s shoulder blades.

“Breathe Little Wing, it’s not happening again, it’s Eleanor’s memory. We’re safe back in the Bunker, Lilith is allowing us—”

“I fucking know that.” Jason gasps, clutching at his armour. “Fuck. _Fuck!_ ”

They both watch the bike Eleanor is on roll to a stop, see her approaching the warehouse with guarded eyes before she picks the lock and flings the door open. Hope that is not his own fills Dick’s chest, along with relief but it’s short lived, he can’t see into the room—honestly, he’s not sure if he wants to, not with Jason’s pale face and wide eyes watching in morbid fascination as the warehouse goes up in flames.

Eleanor is thrown backwards, a faint flicker of blue surrounding her as she lands in the snow, yet the shockwave doesn’t cause Dick or Jason to move at all. That is, until the shock that Dick is fairly sure they’re all feeling is replaced with absolute horror, and undeniable anguish.

He turns away, not wanting to see Eleanor search for Jason’s body, but he still feels what she’s feeling, still hears her heart breaking shouts and cries of ‘ _Jay, Jaybird please, wake up little brother, it’s okay I’m here, please wake up… you have to wake up Jason, please, please!’_

“Fuck.” Jason croaks out again, hunched over. “I didn’t need to relive this shit.”

Dick crouches down, keeping his hand over Jason’s back to feel his heartbeat. It’s somewhat reassuring under all the pain from Eleanor’s memory. He realises he’s crying when a small _plik_ of a tear lands on his jeans. Dick wipes his eyes with his fingers, trying to find his voice.

“I’m sorry Little Wing.”

“Hardly your fault Dickhead.” Jason grunts, eyes wild as he stares into the smouldering embers of the warehouse he died in. “Should’ve figured this was one of Ella’s traumas. She saw me before I… blew up.”

“Jesus, Jay.”

Jason just continues to stare, before his face tightens into an actual scowl with bared teeth. Dick glances over to see Bruce there, taking Jason’s body—which _fuck_ he didn’t, he _really didn’t need to see that_ —from Eleanor, walking back to a parked batplane neither of them had heard approach.

_Failure, anguish, despair_ keeps flaring in his chest, and honestly, Dick isn’t sure what’s Eleanor’s and what’s his.

He hadn’t been on the fucking planet when it happened, then he’d missed the funeral, _and_ found out that Bruce had all but kicked Eleanor out of the city for reasons he’d not discovered until almost two years later. When he’d found her in Europe later, she’d yelled at him, he’d yelled back. It had been the worst fight they’d ever had. Resulting in both of them walking away from each other, after calling out things they both hadn’t really meant like _‘it’s over!’_ and _‘just leave me the hell alone!’_. When Dick had gotten some air to clear his head he’d immediately regretted it. But he couldn’t find her again. It was like Eleanor had just vanished into thin air.

He’d spent days searching for her.

_Days._

In the memory, it feels like minutes go past, but suddenly the sun peaks over the mountain tops, painting the clear sky a dull orange as the snow glitter around the ruined warehouse. Eleanor is still there, curled over though Dick can’t hear sobbing anymore. He wants so badly to walk over there to try and comfort her, even as Lilith’s warning rings in his head.

It’s a memory.

He just has to remind himself of that. Jason is alive. Eleanor needs them to help her through these memories, so that Lilith can remove the programming.

It’s a relief when finally the scene seems to crumble at the corners of his vision and it’s only Jason and him back at that nothingness again.

Jason curses next to him, and Dick straightens out of his crouch.

“Do you want—”

“No I don’t want to talk about it Dick!” Jason snaps harshly, he starts walking yet for some strange reason he keeps being the same distance away from Dick. When he notices, Jason’s scowl deepens, and he crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

Dick doesn’t like being idle. When he was younger his mom would always say he had itchy feet—he couldn’t stay still to save his life. And while he would like to think that now, in his mid-twenties, he’d calmed somewhat, he still hated to be idle. He liked to be of use to people, not just his friends or family, but people on the street too, help them—save them.

The only people he’s ever seen been able to get through to him when he does it is Alfred and Ellie. Alfred’s methods of present but silent seemingly having just as strong of an effect as Eleanor’s distracting techniques.

Dick didn’t really have the patience for Alfred’s approach, and Jason didn’t seem to have the same patience for Dick’s distractions as he did Ellie’s.

So it’s incredibly frustrating when Jason throws up all of his walls and completely _refuses_ any help. It leaves Dick feeling absolutely helpless.

He hates it.

Hates seeing the people around him suffer.

Ellie calls him ‘Sunshine’. When he’d asked why, she’d only smiled that smile that said more than a thousand words, and told him that he was the light of her life. It… it was on his mind more than he’d care to admit. At times it even felt like a burden, to be someone’s light. All though, he’d never confessed that to her. Dick… he knew their relationship wasn’t perfect, there was an underlying lingering codependency, in a sense of both of them would put each other’s needs over themselves to the negligence of their own health. It wasn’t especially healthy, maybe, but he also knew that he loved Eleanor beyond words. Dick had been in relationships with other people, Kori and Roy being two that sprung to mind. He loved them, but it had paled in comparison to the love he felt for Eleanor.

Kori had understood, she was great like that. They’d even been engaged—Dick had been terrified she would leave him just like Eleanor had, that’s why he’d proposed to begin with. Admittedly not a very valid reason, which is probably why both of them had agreed to be friends so easily. While he didn’t especially regret being with Kori—she’d taught him a lot of things, about himself too. He did regret jumping into the relationship so quickly. He hadn’t been stable when he did, it hadn’t been fair to her.

Roy on the other hand, well, it hadn’t been much of a relationship really. Roy is one of Dick’s best friends—he still is. Sleeping with him had been great, taking his mind off of things that maybe Dick should have spent more time analysing rather than ignoring. And while Roy had his own problems it had been great to have an ear, talk about his frustrations to someone not involved with the Bats. Having a beer and bitching about his family members—at that point it had been mainly about Bruce and Eleanor, Roy had listened, offered comments that made Dick’s chest slightly less heavy. It usually ended with Roy fucking him into whatever surface happened to be nearest. It had been fun, a kind of relationship with no real strings attached. Of course, Roy would also comment on the fact that Dick was still heavily in love with Eleanor, call him on his bullshit. Which had been less welcomed at the time, yet looking back on it, very needed.

So yeah, the only stable relationship he’d really had was with Eleanor. She meant the world to him, they had gone through so much together—still are going through so much.

The past months had been hell.

Because no matter how hard he tried, Dick just _couldn’t_ please everyone. The expectations were so high he wasn’t sure he could even see them anymore. By trying to help Damian, he alienated Tim. Eleanor had been so angry with him, it had felt like she was judging him for the smallest decision. Alfred, Alfred had been great. But he also had expectations. The worst one was Bruce, was Dick supposed to do this indefinitely? Was it until someone else came along and did a better job? Was _Dick_ doing a good enough job? The fiasco with Two-Face finding the cave— _how had he let that happen?_ Even though he’d salvaged it, and managed to play a convincing enough Batman that Dent had believed him in the end. He still felt like a pretender.

There were just so many threads tangled together that Dick had no clue how to unravel it without hurting anyone.

He rubs his face, feeling exhaustion creeping up on him like a heavy blanket.

Suddenly the scene shifts again, they’re swept into a room—a hotel room by the looks of it. Eleanor is sat by a desk, she’s pale with dark circles under her eyes. She looks like she’s not slept or eaten in a while. With a pen in her right hand and a couple of papers lying flat on the surface, the sound of her scribbling is the only noise in the room. That and the low hum of one John Constantine.

Dick meets Jason’s eyes, both of them look equally confused.

Dick doesn’t remember Eleanor ever talking about meeting John Constantine.

“What the hell?” Jason mouths when the front door opens to reveal Slade Wilson. Dick would definitely remember Eleanor hanging out with his nemesis. So how come she’d hid that from him?

Slade gives Eleanor a long look before he walks over to sit down on the uncomfortable looking armchair. Constantine doesn’t brother looking up from whatever it is he’s drawing on the wooden floor.

Dick waits for the overflow of emotion, anything really. Only to realise that he feels hollow. Like someone’s reached into his chest and carved his heart out with a blunt knife. It’s a scary, _indifferent_ feeling that the longer he stares at the back of Eleanor’s head, he realises he’s felt once before.

When Blockbuster and Tarantula had almost ruined him.

“No.”

“What?” Jason follows his gaze, unnerved.

“What is she writing.” Dick walks closer, peering over Eleanor’s shoulder in a blatant display of invasion of privacy, careful not to touch anything. He only sees black lines from where she’s scratched out whatever it is she’s written.

Jason crouches down near an overflowing garbage can, peering at one of the papers that’s not quite as crumbled as the other ones.

“—reading this I’m… _something_ —waiting, no, wishing? Wishing you a long and…” Jason frowns. “happy life.” He looks up to Dick. “The hell is this?”

_A suicide note._ “A goodbye letter.”

Dick wishes… he wishes he’d never gone home when Donna came looking for him. He wishes he’d stayed in Europe to look for Eleanor when Donna said that “she just needs time.”. Eleanor went through this alone, and never told anyone. Dick feels like a failure all over again. _How could he have missed this, how could he have been so fucking_ blind?

The scene shifts as Jason opens his mouth to say something, showing Eleanor standing in bright green fire, the smell of death permeating the room. Dick feels terrified of what’s going to happen, even though logically he knows that she came back from this. It’s kind of like watching a horror movie, the actors are safe, you know that, but the jump scares and build up is still frightening.

_“How am I still here?”_ Eleanor breathes after a pulse of magic sweeps over them. _“Where is Jason?”_

_Jason_ who’s watching the whole thing curses colourfully enough that the swear jar at the manor would have been filled. “What the hell is she doing?” He snaps, looking at Dick like Dick has all the answers.

_“It didn’t work.”_ John Constantine said, shrugging like it’s not his problem anymore. “ _There was nothing to trade.”_ Eleanor demands they try again and to both Dick and Jason’s surprise it’s Slade that interrupts with a firm _‘No.’_ and all but drags her out of there.

The room fizzles away, and once more they’re stood in nothing.

“What—” Jason struggles with his words, gesturing wildly with his hands. “The fuck Dick?”

_How am I still here._

_Where is Jason?_

“She wanted to trade her life for yours.” Dick hears himself say, still feeling numb and hollow. Then suddenly angry. How dare she try something like that? He could understand wanting Jay back, they all had people they desperately wanted to see again. But what if it had worked and she’d traded her life for Jason’s, how distraught, how guilty would he feel because of a decision he had no say in? And how would that have broken the rest of them? What the hell had she been _thinking_.

“When this slideshow is over.” Jason grits out. “I’m—she better—this is— _fuck!_ ”

Dick didn’t know what he wants more once they’re ‘awake’ again, shake some sense into her, or hold her and tell her that he loves her.

They wait in tense silence for something to happen, and when it does it’s nothing like the previous times a memory had appeared. The nothingness kind of… shudders, like a muscle having been so tense that it’s starting to tremble from the effort.

“Lilith?” Dick calls, “what’s happening?”

There’s no reply.

Then suddenly they’re overwhelmed by noises, and as if breaking apart like glass the memory forms in front of them. They’re in a small airplane, the whirring of the engine is louder with the side door open. It’s cold, Dick can see snow outside but once more he doesn’t really feel the shift in temperature.

What he does feel is a crushing sense of anger, of hatred and disgust.

He looks around, trying to find the source of the mixture of negative emotions. Beside him Jason does the same. They spot Eleanor at the same time, holding on to some ropes attached to the roof of the plane. She’s in her Blackbird armour, the one designed for arctic weather.

Over the noise of the howling wind and aircraft Dick can just make out her voice. _“Did you honestly think you’d get away after everything you’ve done?!”_

Dick can’t see who she’s talking to.

_“You belong in prison!”_ Eleanor shouts. _“I don’t care how you broke out, you’re going back and this time I’m making sure you stay there for the rest of your pitiful life!”_

Ice runs through his veins when he hears the other person’s response. _“I didn’t break out!”_

_“I don’t care! You’re going back to Blackgate!”_

His head swims, a chill runs up his spine, for a second he’s back on that rainy rooftop feeling numb and nauseous all at once. _I’m poison._ He ruins what he touches, he should have been able to save them, he should have been able to _stop her_.

“Dick?” Jason’s touch to his shoulder makes him jump. He jerks away from it, almost stumbling over his own feet to get some distance. Bile rises in his throat, he feels disgusted, unclean. Why couldn’t he just have stopped _her_? He told her not to touch him, and she hadn’t listened. _Why hadn’t she listened?_ The phantom touches of _her_ hands on him makes his skin itch. The panting whispers of sick adoration in his ear. _‘Querido’, ‘Guapo’, ‘Cariño’._ He presses his knuckles against his mouth to try and stop any noises that threatens to escape him.

“Dick? Are you okay?” Jason calls again, concern visible on his face. Dick turns away, he doesn’t want Jason to see him like this. Only Ellie knew, and she promised not to tell anyone else. Bruce didn’t have the full picture either, even though his therapist had told him that it would be good for him to talk about it to those he cared about.

He didn’t want them to look at him differently.

Dick didn’t want them to see another victim.

“I’m fine.” He manages finally, trying to reign in his broiling emotions. Feeling Eleanor’s _hate-disgust-anger_ isn’t helping.

He finally sees her, Catalina Flores, dark hair pulled up and dressed in thermal clothes to stave off the cold. She’s sat on the ground with Eleanor’s bō-staff pressed under her chin, a dark bruise visible on the dark skin of her jaw. _It’s not real_ , he has to remind himself. _This is a memory, it’s not real, he’s safe in the Bunker. Catalina can’t touch him._

He repeats it in his head, over and over, knowing that Jason is watching him.

Catalina sneers, _“you will never get over it.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_“_ He _will always remember me.”_

The bō cracks up, and Catalina spits blood from her split lip, there’s blood on her teeth when she grins. _“He enjoyed it. He wouldn’t have been hard if he didn’t.”_

Another crack of the staff has the Latino woman gasping for breath.

Dick can’t quite manage to stop the hitch of his breath, he wraps his arms around himself to try and stop the trembling of his hands. He closes his eyes. _Safe in the Bunker. He’s_ safe _in the Bunker._ Catalina can’t touch him. She can’t touch him. She _can’t touch him._

_“I will tell you this once, and once only. If you keep talking about him,_ I will kill you _.”_

Eleanor’s voice is cold in ways that Dick has never heard before, not even when she’d gotten him out of that motel room and almost beaten Catalina to a pulp.

Jason breathes out a surprised “woah” next to Dick.

The grin on Catalina’s face drops, for a moment she looks hesitant and unsure. _“Your type doesn’t kill.”_

_“Test me.”_ Eleanor bends closer, sneering. _“I dare you, test me.”_

Several things happen at once, Jason keeps looking at him with an unreadable expression. The plane shudders under them and there’s a sudden drop of altitude. Catalina takes advantage when Eleanor loses balance for a brief moment and tries to throw her out of the plane.

The memory changes.

The plane is broken in the snow, wings snapped and a large hole in the main body. Eleanor is stood with her hand resting against it, when she steps back inside there’s a bloody handprint that quickly freezes over. Jason and Dick follow her to the cockpit, she checks the vitals of the pilot, grimacing when she can’t find a heartbeat.

Then she goes to find Catalina, rummaging through broken pieces. Her hand keeps gravitating towards her middle, Dick guesses she’s broken a couple of ribs, it’s miraculous that her injuries aren’t worse. When Eleanor finds Catalina, the Latino woman’s leg is twisted enough that Dick instantly knows that the bone is broken.

_“Help me_.” She gasps, blood pooling out of her mouth.

And…

Eleanor does nothing.

Jason twitches next to him, as if he wants to reach out.

_“Please…”_ Catalina coughs, rasping for breath, it sounds like she’s got a collapsed lung.

Eleanor keeps staring at her, conflicted. A cold wind sweeps through the crashed plane.

_“Please.”_ Catalina repeats, coughing. _“I don’t—… want to die.”_

Eleanor reaches up to tap a button on her wrist, then without another word turns and leaves. Ignoring the cries of the woman slowly dying inside. The memory lasts long enough for them to see the batplane decloaking and Eleanor getting into the aircraft and with practised motion does a prefight check and disappears into the snowy sky.

They’re returned to the rippling blackness, but the feelings doesn’t disappear like they had previously. Especially the disgust. Dick swallows thickly, how was he supposed to look Jason in the eyes ever again? How was he supposed to be a big brother after he’d seen _that_ interaction. Jason was smart enough to put two and two together.

He… he thought he was fucking done with his already.

Hearing _her_ voice, and seeing _her_ face was apparently enough to send him spiralling down again. He can feel his own self confidence—something he had spent the past _year_ rebuilding, shattering like fragile glass.

“Dick.” Jason says quietly. He sounds so uncertain that Dick really don’t want to turn and see the pity in his eyes. He can hear it in Jason’s _voice_ already.

Jason is persistent though. “Whatever it is you’re thinking right now? Don’t.”

Dick wets his lips, trying to figure out what he wants to say. He’s not ready for this conversation, he… damn it. _Why won’t his hands stop shaking._

“No matter what that woman did to you,” there’s a bite to Jason’s words, an anger that Dick is familiar with in Eleanor. “That’s not on you.”

“Please don’t, Jay.” He can’t talk about it. Not now. Not here. Not _yet._

“Alright.” Another pause. “Just… if you need anything.”

“Yeah.” Dick glances up from his hands, finds that Jason’s not staring at him at all. “Thanks.”

The darkness feels over encompassing all of a sudden, like he’s been stuffed into a small space for too long.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, it could be seconds or hours, but eventually the nothingness makes way for a long sandy-white beach, azure coloured water glittering in the setting sun. The sky painted a dazzling purplish-blue that looks straight out of a picture.

Eleanor’s sat by the edge of the water dressed in a white summer dress.

Dick waits for the onslaught of emotions, yet as time go past, nothing happens. He breathes out, both relived and concerned, only to have Eleanor turn towards him and smile.

“Hello.”

“Hi?” She can see them? “You can see us?”

“Of course I can see you, silly.” She chuckles, her eyes shifts to look at Jason, “it’s nice here, don’t you think?”

She draws swirly shapes in the sand, turning back to the ocean.

“Eleanor… do you know what’s going on?” Jason asks hesitantly.

“What do you mean?”

They’re not supposed to interact with her, that’s what Lilith had said. Up until this point she hadn’t been able to see them. So what’s different now?

Dick looks around the beach again, tries to find any identifying landmarks or symbols that would make it easier to find out where they are.

“Have you been here before?” Dick asks before Jason can say anything else.

Ellie’s brow furrows for a second, like she’s trying to remember something. “I… I don’t think so?”

“Where is here, Ellie?”

“It’s—I… it’s…” She frowns, staring at him, before she shakes her head. “Does it matter? Dick, come on, Sunshine, it’s so peaceful.”

It does feel nice, he has to admit. The faint breeze, the sun warming his skin, the salty ocean sent and the birds tweeting in the treeline. It’s pleasant, peaceful, and way too perfect.

“You have to wake up from this Ella.”

Eleanor just shakes her head in confusion. “What do you mean, Jay?” She repeats.

“It’s not _real_.” Jason stresses the last word.

“Not real?” Her smile is confused. “That’s not funny, Jay. Can’t you feel the sand? Or the ocean breeze?”

Dick reaches out to stop Jason when he starts walking forward by gripping his forearm. “Wait.” He whispers.

“What?”

“Remember what Lilith said, no interactions.”

Jason falters. “Right, brain damage.” He mutters.

“Yeah, that,” Dick’s starting to feel a bit hysterical. “Let’s not give my girlfriend brain damage.”

“So, what do we do?”

“I…” Dick falters. “I don’t know.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Ellie calls, when Dick glances over she’s stood ankle deep in water. Her white dress darkening from the shallow lap of the waves. She’s looking at him over her shoulder, eyes crinkled from the wide smile on her lips. Framed by the setting sun.

Dick’s heart skips a beat in his chest, she’s _beautiful_. Like she’s straight out of a painting, unburdened by the world. Even if it’s not physically real, he won’t forget that image of her like this. In fact, as soon as he can, he’ll try and make it a reality. Take her to some remote tropical place in the world with a beach as long as the eye can see, maybe Hawaii.

She holds an inviting hand out towards him, and Dick takes an automatic step forward without even thinking, that is, until Jason’s hand on his upper arm stops him.

“Dude.” He says disapprovingly.

Dick grimaces sheepishly. “Right.”

“Suit yourself.” Eleanor says with a shrug, wading out into the water without a care in the world that her dress is getting wet.

Dick only looks away—it can’t be more than a couple of seconds, but when his attention is drawn back to her she’s nowhere in sight. Startled he takes another step forward despite Jay’s grip and calls her name.

He doesn’t get a reply.

“Did you—?”

“No.” Jason shakes his head.

The sky turns from a calming sunset purple to a broiling grey, echoed by the ocean that suddenly seems to get more violent.

Dick spots Eleanor in the water further out, struggling against the natural force of it. She’s spluttering and coughing for help and Dick is by the edge of the water before he can even think straight. Once again it’s Jason that stops him from diving in there and pulling her out.

“Stop and think Dick!” he shouts over the raging wind.

“But this time it’s different! She could see us!” He gestures to where _Eleanor is literally drowning._ “It—we can—Jason!”

“It’s not real!” Jason shouts back. “Think, Dick. It’s not _real_. It’s some sort of mental construct, Lilith specifically said—”

“Not to touch anything, yes I know.” Dick grimaces.

“I don’t like it either.” Gut wrenching pain flickers in Jason’s eyes as he stares out into the ocean where Eleanor’s gurling cries for help is fading quickly. “But she has to fight this alone.”

She disappears beneath the water’s surface. The wind stills and the ocean calms, yet the sky remains a dark grey. Dick holds his breath, feeling the seconds tick by as if they are minutes.

It doesn’t sit right with Dick to do nothing, it makes him feel physically _ill_ to see how much she’s struggling and not be able to help. But it makes sense that it’s some sort of physical manifestation for their brains to process Eleanor’s struggle, and Dick… He believes in her. She could do anything she put her mind to, she had one of the strongest powers of will he’s ever seen. Eleanor came back from losing herself after Jason’s death, after everything they’ve seen in her mind, she can come back from this too. He knows it. He believes in her.

Jason curses next to him and Dick’s not sure who’s holding who back anymore.

Then she resurfaces, coughing and sputtering up water. Struggling against the sudden storm that surrounds them, like the ocean is trying to pull her down. It feels weird, like there’s some outside force trying to stop her from swimming to safety.

“C’mon!” Jason shouts suddenly. “Fight this shit Ella!”

“I believe in you pretty bird, come back to us!” Dick joins in.

Eleanor digs through the waves as if the water is molasses, clawing at the sand once she’s in shallow enough water as the two of them continue to shout encouragements as if they’re cheering her on.

When she finally, _finally_ makes it out of the water, she collapses in the sand. Turning her head to the two of them. Dick crouches down, and even though all he would like to do is to reach out and touch her, he restrains himself from doing so.

“It’s over.” She croaks weakly.

He can feel it too. Like a heavy, smothering blanket has been lifted. He looks up to the sky and sees nothing but blue.

“It’s over.” Dick repeats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoookay, so this was a massive chapter, but I couldn't find another way of shortening it down because it was sooo needed--and it's Dick's perspective! I've never tried writing his perspective of things before which was a bit of a challange, so I hope that I didn't make him too OC.  
> Let me know what you think in the comments, or leave some kudos if you liked it!  
> Stay safe out there <3


	10. I might be a faded Polaroid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To your palette_   
>  _I'm translucent_   
>  _At least when I am looking at myself_   
>  _You're that coltsfoot_
> 
> “Couldn’t sleep?” He prompts gently.  
> Eleanor turns her head back to watch the sunrise. “I feel like I’ve slept forever.”

When Eleanor wakes up it’s different from the past month. Instead of the sudden jump of her heart, it’s a slow gradual thing. The bed is comfortable and familiar, she’s warm and drowsy, it’s still dark outside the bedroom window, even though she can’t make out the stars because of the light pollution, it’s still a comforting sight. Dick is still asleep next to her, lying on his side with one hand under his pillow. His face is partially hidden by fabric, and she’s pretty sure he’s drooling, but to Eleanor, he’s never been more beautiful. So unguarded and unburdened by the conscious mind.

She’s tempted to reach out and tuck some of his wild hair behind his ear, but at the same time she doesn’t want to disturb his peace. So she—as quietly as she can, slips out of the bed and steals the shirt he’d thrown off before going to bed last night, pulling it over her head as she walks over to the large window.

It’s four am, yet the ever busy streets of Gotham bustle with life. They’re too far up for the noise to be overbearing, and the suite is soundproofed anyway. She can imagine the sounds though, cars mainly, people talking to get heard over the noise, and loud adverts. Maybe even the occasional dog or a raunchy stray cat. Eleanor’s half tempted to go over to the balcony in the living room just to hear it all for real. All sounds that she’d taken for granted before, sounds of a living, breathing city. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

In the window, the faint reflection of Dick still asleep in their bed shifts ever so slightly. A soft sigh escaping his lips. Eleanor stands still, holding her own breath to not wake him up. Even though she wants to turn on the stereo in the living room, play some loud obnoxious music because the silence is making her feel antsy and uncomfortable.

She thinks about Lilith, asleep in one of the guest rooms. Turning on music wasn’t an option, she had looked exhausted after delving into Eleanor’s mind and allowing Jason and Dick to see her memories. Eleanor was sure it was more in depth than that, but she didn’t really want to overthink it. They would all speak properly in the morning. Which… Eleanor wasn’t looking forward to it. At all.

She didn’t want to dredge up the past more than they had already. The memories were still fresh in her head. Losing Jason, her own depressed state finding more and more excuses to do dangerous things in Europe.

Killing Tarantula.

Okay, so maybe not directly. But she might as well have. While the batplane didn’t exactly have a medical bay, it was small and fast. Eleanor could have flown them to the nearest hospital. She _could_ have saved Catalina Flores’ life. Even with her extensive injuries.

Eleanor had just chosen not to. And it had been her cross to bear. Now though, Dick and Jason knew, she never wanted that. Even though Jason had killed before—he’d probably understand more than anyone why she did it. But the look he had given her before he left the Bunker last night had made her feel numb. It hadn’t been an angry look, or approving. It was like he’d just seen her for the first time, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

With Dick it had been similar yet different. He too had looked at her with new eyes, but they’d been guarded. Closed off. Eleanor had sworn she would never lie to him again—and she hadn’t, not really. She’d just failed to mention that she was part of the mission that lead to Flores’ death. A lie of omission. Yet seeing it again—feeling it again. The anger and disgust she harboured for that foul woman coming crashing back. Eleanor wasn’t sure that she would make a different choice if she had the opportunity.

Catalina Flores had raped, murdered, blackmailed, and stolen.

She hadn’t been a good person. She had ruined other people’s lives. Now she could never do it again.

She couldn’t change either, she couldn’t atone for her crimes, or try to do better in the future.

And what gave Eleanor the right to decide whether she lived or died?

Even though it’s in the past, it still bothers her sometimes. Not knowing that Flores’ is dead. But to know that she’s capable of doing something like that. Of leaving someone to die, when they’d begged to be saved.

It makes her feel unclean.

And definitely unworthy of the man sleeping in the bed behind her.

She’s stood by the window for so long it’s starting to get brighter outside. The sun painting the sky in soft orange and yellow, the clouds taking on an ethereal almost purple glow. Even with the tinted glass dampening it, it’s beautiful. She never thought that she’d miss a sunrise this much.

The reflection of Dick in the window shifts on the bed, a hand reaching up to rub at his eyes as he props himself up on the other one. He yawns, she can hear some of his bones popping when he stretches.

“Ellie?” He asks, voice coarse and rough from sleep.

Eleanor lets her arms drop from where she’s wrapped them around herself, turning her head ever so slightly so she can properly see him. The light from outside makes his skin look more bronze than it actually is, and she swears that his eyes takes on a purple hue.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He prompts gently.

She wonders if he’s afraid that it’s still not her. They’d all taken Lilith’s word that the programming was gone, trusted that the telepath knew what she was doing. But what if she was wrong? Maybe she should still be in the containment chamber until they knew for certain. The thought of going back however, sends chills up her spine.

Eleanor turns her head back to watch the sunrise. “I feel like I’ve slept forever.” She finally breathes into the quiet of the room.

“I guess in a way, you kind of have.”

She hums.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m still me, if that’s what you’re asking.” It comes out more bitter than she intends. Realising how tense she is, Eleanor takes a deep breath to try and quell the sudden white hot feeling of anger in her chest.

“It’s not.” Dick tries after a moments silence. “I know it’s you.”

Eleanor’s shoulders slump. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry, Dick.” She has a feeling she’ll be apologizing a lot today, better get it over with.

The springs in the mattress squeak as Dick gets up, and without hesitation he wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his head on her right shoulder after a gentle kiss. Eleanor allows her eyes to close, leaning her own head against his.

“We’re going to talk at some point.” He murmurs. “But it doesn’t have to be soon. If you’d rather stay focused on finding the bad guy or guys we can do that, for now.”

“Dick—.” There’s a lump in her throat.

“Whenever you’re ready.” He soothes. “I love you.”

She turns, cupping his face between the palms of her hands, stroking her thumbs over the faint stubble on his cheeks. “You are an amazing man, Dick Grayson. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out.” He offers her one of his trademark charming smiles that makes her knees wobbly.

“I—… No, I should… You deserve to know. Everything.”

Like ripping a band aid off. Just get it over with.

“Okay.” He takes her hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Okay. But how about breakfast first?”

She doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry, so apparently she settles on smiling while an errant tear slips down her cheek. “Okay.”

It’s still early enough for people to be asleep, except for Alfred. A note on the kitchen counter lets them know that the butler has gone to the farmers market, so they start making their own breakfast. And while they’re certainly no chefs—like Alfred, the bacon and eggs they end up making is very much delicious. They’re even far enough away from any sleeping rooms that the soft tune of the radio doesn’t wake anyone. She doesn’t even protest when Dick gives her a kiss on the cheek after taking a sip of his coffee. It feels normal, good even. Talking about small things like a TV they both enjoyed getting a second season, while avoiding anything related to work—both night time and not, like the plague.

Alfred returns not soon after they’ve done cleaning up after themselves, giving both of them a warm smile as he starts preparing Damian’s breakfast and if Eleanor remember correctly from when Damian had turned his nose up at anything else, since what her and Dick ate wasn’t _‘filled with the exact amount of protein that someone my height and weight needs’_.

Cassandra sleepily makes her way out of her bedroom as soon as Alfred starts cooking, as if an internal alarm has notified her of the superior breakfast being prepared. She’s dressed in a mellow yellow pyjama with ducks printed on it. Short black hair ruffled adorably, and she drowsily wraps her arms around Ellie with a soft _“good morning,”_ falling off her lips. Cassandra then proceeds to sneakily steal the rest of Eleanor’s chai, and it takes her a ridiculous amount of time to even notice that her sister is drinking out of the pumpkin themed mug.

The little monster, aka Damian, appears not soon after, giving Eleanor a look of contempt as if _she’s_ the one intruding in his life. She knows that she isn’t, but it’s not difficult to feel like a stranger in her own home. Especially when Damian demands Dick’s attention long enough for her to completely slip away from the conversation. A part of her thinks that’s she’s being childish and immature. Fighting for the attention of her boyfriend as if she really were a five year old with a new rival sibling.

The air on the balcony of the penthouse is warm enough in the morning sun, pleasantly ruffling her hair in the wind when she leans against the reinforced glass railing. She tilts her head up, soaking in the rays of the sun. Breathing in deeply to try and attain that relaxed mental state she’d learned from Buddhist monks during her training.

It’s not as easy as she’d like.

When Dick finds her moments later, Eleanor feels cold—which isn’t that strange really, she’s after all still dressed only in her sleeping shorts and Dick’s Wonder Woman tee. _(Never say that her boyfriend doesn’t have exquisite taste in clothes—no, really, the Christmas sweaters are always brilliantly colourful, and the day he gets her to wear a matching one is the day she’ll finally die. Probably out of embarrassment.)_

He leans against the railing next to her for a moment, staring out to the sea of concrete. Patiently waiting for her to take the first step, Eleanor is fairly certain that if she changed her mind right here and now, Dick wouldn’t hold it against her.

Which is exactly why she can’t do that.

She takes a minute to sort through the memory, trying to figure out how to phrase her sentences in a way that would make sense. In a way that wont hurt him. Words are hard.

“I found out from a contact of mine at Blackgate that Flores had escaped.” She starts, refusing to turn her head and meet his eyes when he looks at her. She wets her lips. “Or… maybe she didn’t escape, and someone let her out, but that… it doesn’t really matter. I tracked her down to the Canadian, Alaskan border, she had hired a plane, I remember how cold it was. Even with my thermal gear.”

“The pilot was an accomplice, Flores had offered to pay him for flying her to Russia. She had something valuable, I’m not sure what it was—when I checked the arrival destination the crate was empty. Uhm, there was some turbulence in the air, I jumped from the batplane, putting it in automatic mode to follow—anyway. She wasn’t expecting it, and she was good for ex-FBI but not as good as…” Eleanor pauses. That’s also irrelevant, she has to get to the fucking point.

“We fought, it didn’t go well. She tried to shoot me when I lost my balance and shot the pilot instead. In the fight we also damaged the plane, I did what I could to stabilize the landing, but in the end we crashed in the Alaskan tundra. It was minus twenty degrees of harsh winds and snowfall.” Even now, standing on the balcony in the mid-June morning sun, Eleanor shudders. “Flores had a broken leg, collapsed lung and probably major internal bleeding. Some of the metal debris had pierced through the small of her back, out through her abdomen. On top of that she probably had a severe concussion. The nearest medical facility with the proper equipment to save her life was an hour away.”

She meets the blank look in Dick’s eyes, her voice feels weak when she finishes her recollection of the events. “I could have saved her life if I wanted to. But I didn’t.”

Dick searches for something in her eyes, and the seconds tick by before he speaks. “You didn’t actually kill her.” His voice is too soft.

“I’ve told myself that for a long time, Dick.” Eleanor shakes her head. “I was responsible for her life and chose not to help her.”

She knows he understands. In the field, it’s the civilian or the enemies life first. Their own, second. They had a responsibility to make sure that the other person was going to make it out alive. Something drilled into their heads when they first started training.

No casualties.

You die before your charge.

“I looked at her and all I could see is the horrible things she did to you.” Eleanor whispers. “And I couldn’t let her get the chance of doing it again. It was easier—… it was easier to let her die.”

“Eleanor…” Dick’s face twists as if he’s eating something sour. “Catalina chose to do all of those things, what happened was the consequences of her actions. Not yours.”

“Bullshit. If I hadn’t followed her to begin with she would have had no need to defend herself, she wouldn’t have shot the pilot, she wouldn’t have damaged the plane. _I_ was the deciding factor.”

His eyes harden, fingers clenching in barely contained rage. “I chose to train her. Was it my fault that she raped me too?”

“What…? No! Of course not!” She gapes. “It’s… that’s—it was a different situation!”

“Maybe.” Dick snaps. “But I still chose to bring her into the fold in Blüdhaven, by your logic it means—”

“I would never blame you for what she did!” Eleanor feels her own anger rising to match the insinuation that she would.

“But you would blame yourself?!”

A frustrated noise escapes her throat, she gestures with her hands before turning her back to him, stalking over to the other side of the balcony. Dick doesn’t allow her any space.

“You had part of it because you wanted to bring her back in. I _saw_ as much. But her death? Not your fault.”

“That’s _not_ how it works—”

“ _That’s_ how it happened.”

“Bruce would—”

“Bruce is _dead!”_ Dick shouts, chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes wide. The name of their deceased mentor/father hanging over them like a dark cloud. They stare at each other, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then he swallows thickly and with a gentler voice says, “Bruce is dead, Eleanor. He _can’t_ be disappointed or angry, or anything else that you’re punishing yourself for.”

Eleanor hides her face in her hands, sniffling at the brutal truth.

“Are you?” Her voice is so timid she might as well have not spoken at all. Dick pries her hands away, but doesn’t let her go.

“No.” There’s shame in his eyes when he speaks. “You know I still have flashbacks, nightmares. I won’t mourn her death. I’m not angry about what you did.” He pauses, squeezing her hands. “I’m furious you didn’t tell me. I’m hurt you didn’t trust me with this.”

“It wasn’t—I never… Damnit. I do trust you.”

“But not with that.” He looks away. “You—Eleanor, this, all of it… Why didn’t you just tell me? Why did I have to find out through—like that?”

Tears build in her eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah.” Dick drops her hands, running his own through his hair. “You did though.”

“I never—god Dick, I’m so sorry.” Eleanor reaches out hesitantly, wanting to put her hand on his shoulder, or comfort him in any other way. She drops her hand before it can make contact. “You know I never want to hurt you… I—I thought that if I didn’t tell you it could just disappear. She could just be a bitter memory at worst.”

“It’s not about _her_ , Eleanor.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. “It’s about your lack of trust in me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how I lost it, what did I do Ellie? When did we stop talking?”

“I trust you.” She murmurs again.

“Did—” he pauses, then hesitantly continues. “Did you not think I could handle it?” It sounds like he doesn’t quite want her to answer it.

She’d never thought that, Dick could come back from anything. She knew first hand how strong he was. So she’d never doubted that he couldn’t handle the truth, her faith in him remained unshaken. It was her own insecurities that had gotten in the way.

Eleanor swallows. “I thought that she wasn’t important enough to mention.” Only a part of it. She’s supposed to be honest here. “And I… were ashamed of what I did. Am. I am ashamed of what I did. I’m supposed to be better. I didn’t want you to see me any differently.”

Dick stands from his hunched position, his brow furrowed in a frown as he studies her. “Okay. Yeah, I can get that. But Eleanor…” He draws her in, cupping her face. “I’m crazy in love with you, I wouldn’t have seen you differently. I know you well enough to know that you didn’t do it out of malice, you’re just overprotective.”

She laughs wetly, weakly, leaning into his touch. “I know.”

“Never again.” He breathes. “Never lie to me again, never omit something even if you think you’re protecting me. Whatever it is, please. This—us, we’re in this together. Please.”

“I know—I never, I’m sorry. I—” _doesn’t deserve the second chance he’s offering._ No, third chance. “I love you so much it’s difficult not to want to protect you from everything—”

“I know.”

“—but I mean it, just don’t—” _stop loving me back._ “You’re my everything.”

He hugs her and Eleanor clings back, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“I forgive you.”

She cries then, an ugly hiccupping cry, even as her chest feels lighter than it has in the past couple of months. Comforted by the fact that maybe she can do better, _be_ better. Not just for Dick or her family, but for herself.

She needs to let this toxic anger go before it destroys her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the absence! I've been busy with school work and some minor writers block, this chapter was hard to get right, and I've done several rewrites. I'm still not a 100% happy with it, if I'm honest. But I really had to move past it. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Leave a kudos if you liked and maybe drop a comment of your favourite bit?  
> Stay safe out there <3


	11. Even the wrong words seem to rhyme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Even the best fall down sometimes_   
>  _Even the stars refuse to shine_
> 
> “Once Hood is done with the explosives—”  
> “Alright, Replacement, I’m almost done. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Jason snarks over the comms.

“I moved one of the satellites in to range and got a good scan of the area.” Tim fiddles with his gauntlet, a second later a replica of the city they’re in appears on the ground in holographic form before them. The general outline doesn’t have many details, but once Tim adjusts it to the more localized area they’re in Eleanor can make out trees and roads. And more importantly, the details of the buildings.

The compound they’re planning on infiltrating is half a kilometre away. Ra’s’ compound. Ra’s’ heavily guarded compound that had taken an entire week to find. It was Tim that had found it, he hadn’t exactly explained _how_ he had, but Eleanor wasn’t going to question it either way. They needed answers and while she didn’t think that Ra’s was the one responsible, maybe he had some insight.

Lilith had only confirmed that it had been Psimon—an evil psychic that usually is a Titan’s problem—that had programmed her subconsciousness, but it wasn’t him behind the orders. That had been someone else. They’d tried digging through her head some more, but there had been nothing substantial to everyone’s frustrations.

“Once Hood is done with the explosives—”

_“Alright, Replacement, I’m almost done. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”_ Jason snarks over the comms.

“If you’d followed the plan from the beginning we wouldn’t still be waiting for you.” Tim replies curtly, the cowl of his suit stops her from seeing his eyes, but his mouth tightens, and Eleanor can imagine the eyeroll.

_“Everyone’s a critic.”_

Tim opens his mouth to reply—probably something veiled and nasty, because Tim can be both when he really wants to.

“Alright boys, you’re both _very_ pretty. Can we get back to the mission?” Steph interrupts before it can become something more. Eleanor’s grateful that she’s here.

She crouches down, gesturing to the left side of the compound on the holographic interface. “Black Bat, Batgirl and Red Robin will make sure that none of—

_“Hang on,_ Red Robin?” it sounds like Jason’s trying not to laugh over the comms when he interrupts her. Eleanor reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, refraining from sighing her younger brothers name out loud. She loves Jason to bits, but my _god_ he really tested that love sometimes.

“Do you have a problem, _Red_ Hood.” Tim snaps back.

_“Nah.”_ If he wasn’t laughing before he definitely is now. _“It’s just_ very _imaginative that’s all.”_

“At least I didn’t take my name from a psychopathic clown that killed me.”

Still chuckling, Jason replies. _“True. But hey if you wanna keep a constant reminder of what that little brat took—”_

“Enough.” Eleanor finally bites out, trying to keep her voice low. “You can fight later. We have a mission to do. Now— second team makes sure Ra’s’ reinforcements cant make it to the main room, where Hood will meet me, and we’ll talk to Ra’s. Talk. Not fight. Got it?”

_“Yes, ma’am!”_ Jason childishly replies while the two in front of her nod.

“Black Bat?”

_“Nobody here.”_ Cassandra murmurs over their comms. _“Sending location to Batgirl and Red Robin.”_

Eleanor doesn’t miss Jason’s chuckle, but luckily no one else comments on it.

“Good. They’ll meet you there.” She nods to Tim and Steph, both get up and silently disappear towards Cass’s hiding spot. “Hood?”

_“Last charge of our distraction set.”_ He informs them. _“On my way back. A minute tops.”_

“Got it, meet you—what the actual fuck?”

_“What?”_

Eleanor stares down the nose of the batplane, its silent mode—so quiet she only notices it when she can actually see it with her own two eyes. The sleek black panes of it meant to absorb nearby light, kind of like their suits, but on a larger scale. And in the cockpit? None other than Damian. Which—not according to their plans. At all.

He jumps out, pulling the hood up of his Robin costume to cover his head and the plane slowly starts drifting away, while Damian grips the katana on his hip with a gloved fist.

_“Blackbird?”_ Jason asks.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Eleanor hisses. She looks behind him—wondering if she’s supposed to see Dick jumping out of the plane too, but knows instinctively that he won’t. They had all agreed to keep Damian away from Ra’s, the small fact of Ra’s trying, and failing, luckily, to take over his grandson’s body because his own was too frail or something. Anyway that fact alone had made them consider the fact that taking Damian with them to confront Ra’s was a bad idea. (Ra’s had then proceeded to take over his oldest son’s body instead. Don’t ask Eleanor how, but it was probably some type of ancient magic that were sure to give her a headache if she spent more time thinking about it.)

Dick was supposed to distract him in Gotham—not that hard, considering the city was the most crime filled city in the United States.

Damian stares up at her with defiance—she can clearly read it in his eyes even through the whites of his domino. “If you thought that you could hide something like this from the world’s greatest detective, you are more of a fool than I expected.”

“Does N—does _Batman_ know you’re here?”

“Of course not.” Damian replies smugly. “He believes— _unhand me you simpleton!”_

Eleanor tightens her grip around Damian’s upper arm, ushering him towards the slowly retreating plane. “You’re going back to Gotham.”

“Absolutely not!” Damian pulls his arm away. “You have found _my_ Grandfather. I _will_ be present when you speak to him.”

A soft thud on the other side of the roof notifies her that Jason’s arrived. When she looks up, her brother jerks a gloved thumb in Damian’s direction.

“What’s tater-tots doing here?”

“He’s _leaving._ ” Eleanor snaps back, taking over the controls of the plane to guide it back down.

“If Grandfather still wanted to take over my body he would not have left me alone in Gotham with you pathetic lot.” Damian insists, still glaring at her. “With father gone it would have been easy for him.”

They all know that’s a lie. She might not like Damian much, but she’d do anything to make sure he didn’t fall back into the League of Assassin’s hands. Just like Dick would. And maybe Bruce used to be in a fighting class all of his own, but all of them together? In a city they know? With their allies within shouting distance?

Hell _no_. Ra’s wasn’t stupid enough to make that sort of frontal assault.

“Short stack’s got a point.” Jason shrugs, when Eleanor snaps her head in his direction he clears his throat. “But uh, you should probably get back to Gotham.”

“I will not.” Damian tsks. “And insult my height again, Red Hood, and I will bifurcate you.”

Eleanor can’t see Jason’s smile because of his helmet, but she’s a hundred percent sure he’s grinning.

_“Guys.”_ Tim calls over the comms, sounding impatient. _“Are we moving on with the plan or…?”_

Eleanor looks down at Damian again, he stares right back, no ounce of hesitation in his body language.

“Fine.” At least by her side she’d be able to keep an eye out for the kid. “But this is my mission. I’m in command. Do you understand me?”

Damian tsks again. That annoying ‘tt’ sound that makes her eye twitch.

“Do you understand me?” She repeats, her jaw clenched. “If I say jump, you ask how high. This is non-negotiable. Or I _will_ tie you up and send you back to Gotham.”

Damian sneers. “Very well. Your mission. I understand.”

“Great, now that that’s settled.” Jason holds up the little remote detonator. “You want the honours, sis?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “I know how much you love blowing things up, go ahead.”

“Aw, you’re the best.” Jason chuckles, flipping the lid to the detonator like a child opening a present on Christmas day. He presses the button, three seconds of silence stretches out before the currently abandoned LexCorp weapons factory goes up in flames, causing a chain reaction of more explosions. Jason whistles—it sounds distortive coming out of his helmet. “I do good work.”

About ten seconds pass, then Tim’s voice comes across their comms again. _“They’ve taken the bait.”_

Eleanor takes a running jump, shooting her grapple and swings across to the other building. Behind her, Jason and Damian follow suit. “Copy, don’t engage unless you have to.”

_“Got it. Good luck.”_

It’s by no means easy to get into Ra’s compound, the distraction certainly makes it less difficult. But there’s still ninjas in the facility itself. The first one they come across, Eleanor takes out by striking the nerve at the base of his skull with a precision strike that makes the guy collapse backwards, she catches him, and chokes him out. Knowing that he’ll regain control of his limbs within seconds, it’s quiet and efficient.

Damian gets the next one by cleanly knocking the woman out with a quick punch to the head. They’re almost caught by the third one, only the man doesn’t expect Jason to literally step out of the shadows and choke him out. It always makes her smile when it happens—no one expects someone of Jason’s bulk to be so light on his feet.

Using hand signals and stealth the three of them move like a synchronised team through the building. Eleanor’s always known that Damian is good, he’s done this since birth—according to him. But it’s different to see him in action. He lacks physical strength, but she can’t really fault him for that since he’s only ten, it’s something he’ll eventually grow into. He’s fast though, incredibly so. Maybe eventually he’ll be the best of them. If he gets his temper under control.

The inner sanctum of the compound smells like lavender and there’s a beautiful cherry blossom in the centre. All three of them are perched on the upper level of it, and Eleanor can clearly see the green caped man stood by an easel to the side of the tree.

Ra’s al Ghul is smiling, brush moving against the cloth of the canvas. “Very good.” He says calmly. “I almost did not hear you.”

She glances to Jason, shrugs, and drops down to the bottom floor. “Ra’s,” Eleanor greets the old man, pulling her hood off her head. “We just want to talk.”

“Indeed?” Ra’s still doesn’t move away from his painting. “Tell me, what have you done with my forces?”

“They’re just taking a nap.” Jason offers, leaning against one of the wooden pillars with his arms crossed. Ra’s finally looks up at that, tearing his gaze away from the easel to Jason, then her, and finally Damian.

“Ah, Damian. It is good to see you.”

“It is good to see you as well, Grandfather.” Damian replies curtly, though Eleanor feels like she misses an entire conversation as they stare at one another.

“Tea?” Ra’s asks, gesturing to the steaming hot kettle on a nearby small table. “It is a special _zhourat_ blend.”

“Thank you.” Eleanor nods politely—never say she wasn’t raised by the most polite butler in the world. “But we’re just here to talk.”

“What about, I wonder?” He goes back to his painting.

She’s under no illusion that Ra’s doesn’t already know why they’re here. Or figured it out when he heard them. Still, she can allow the power game to remain in his favour if that makes him more inclined not to try and kill them all for intruding.

“We’re trying to decode an ancient Chinese dialect, and we’ve had no luck so far. Perhaps you know it?” Eleanor taps a couple of buttons on her gauntlet, playing the recording of her own voice speaking in the dead language, all they had really figured out was that it was a repetitive noise.

There’s a spark of interest in Ra’s eyes as he chuckles. “Ah, yes. I can indeed decipher it.” He puts the brush down, walks over and without a hurry in the world pours himself a cup of tea. Maintaining eye contact as he takes a sip, she won’t allow herself to be intimidated by him, so Eleanor keeps looking straight at him. Waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop.

“But… Why should I?” Ra’s pauses. “You intrude upon my home and injure my men. What reason do I have to help you?”

“Are you saying you’d have taken our call?” Jason huffs, though his posture doesn’t say threatened, Eleanor can see the slight shift in his body language. He’s ready to fight if they need it.

“Perhaps.” Ra’s smiles smugly again.

“Forgive our presumptuousness.” Eleanor offers. “After last time we met, you understand we had to be careful.”

Ra’s nods a bit thoughtfully, Eleanor takes the opportunity to continue.

“We just need to know what’s said exactly on this message, if there is anything that I can do for you that’s within my power—and morals, please let me know.”

Alfred would be proud of her diplomatic skills.

Ra’s hums. “I will tell you exactly what your message says, in exchange of one simple thing.”

“Yes?” She tries not to be too eager, but Ra’s smile is all teeth and she get the sense that she’s really out of her depth here. Like making a deal with the devil.

“I wish to speak uninterruptedly and privately with my grandson.”

Ice runs through Eleanor’s veins. “Absolutely not. No deal.”

“Acceptable.” Damian speaks at the same time.

No. Nope. As far from acceptable as it possibly can be. She fucking _knew_ that Damian’s presence here would complicate things. Why couldn’t she just have followed her instinct to immediately send him back to Gotham—and relative safety. Damn it.

She glares at Damian. “Remember what we spoke about. You promised—”

“I made no such promise. I only agreed that this was your mission.”

Gaping, Eleanor makes a choked off noise that would be akin to a kicked puppy. He’s _right_. He made no promises, she… She’d be vaguely proud of him if they weren’t in such a serious situation. Then again, at the same time Eleanor kind of wants to make good on her own ‘ _promise_ ’ and tie the brat up and send him back to Dick.

“Damian.” Eleanor hisses quietly, turning away to fully face her youngest sibling to block her mouth so that Ra’s can’t read what she’s saying. “He’s tried to _kill_ you. I’m not going to let you—”

“ _Let me_.” Damian snaps. “You are neither my mother nor in a position to order me around.”

“Do we have an agreement then?” Ra’s asks, Eleanor really wants to punch that smug look off his face.

But.

No fighting.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Frustratedly Eleanor glares at Damian again.

“Then perhaps a promise is to be made. I wish no harm upon the boy. I only seek to speak to him.” Ra’s says calmly. “You have my word.”

“That’s—” So not the point? She would never _trade_ Damian like this. No amount of information in the world was worth that.

“That _is_ acceptable.” Damian insists. “Grandfather has promised not to harm me. Your _worries_ are for naught.” He says ‘worries’ as if he’s mocking her.

“Damian.” She tries again.

“Enough. I will speak privately with _my_ Grandfather. You may leave.”

She could keep arguing the point, she could even grab the little brat and force him out of there one way or another. Jason would have her back, and while Damian would no doubt put up a decent fight, Eleanor had sixteen years on the kid. Enough experience to forcibly remove him.

“Did you know?” The question stumbles out of her mouth before she realises what she’s saying. Eleanor looks over the Ra’s. “Did you know what happened to me in your care?”

He’d sworn that she wouldn’t be harmed. Did he count being brainwashed through a psychic’s powers as being harmed? Had she really been dumb enough to trust the word of a terrorist? _Was_ she still? Eleanor had always believed that Ra’s was honourable enough to always keep his word when he gave it. For good or bad. Mainly bad, but still. He kept his word.

Eleanor isn’t the only one that’s surprised when Ra’s replies. “I did not.”

She honestly hadn’t thought his pride would allow it.

“But…?” Because there’s definitely a ‘but’ in there.

Ra’s eyes spark dangerously. “I have eyes everywhere, my dear.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eleanor snaps back.

“I owe you no such allegiance.” Ra’s chuckles. “I respected your father, his passing is unfortunate and if I may say, such a waste. However the respect I harboured for the Detective does not automatically transfer to his children. When I found you, you were emotional and weak, I told you back then that I only did what I did to make sure that your father was not completely broken by the loss of another child.”

Jason’s whole body tenses, one hand jerking towards the gun holstered on his hip, yet Ra’s continues unthreatened.

“Now my patience has run its course. I will speak with my grandson in private and you will have your answers. Or, you will leave here empty handed. Either way, you _will_ make a decision or be forcibly removed.”

A shiver runs up her spine. She’s not foolish enough to mistake Ra’s casual appearance as anything but dangerous.

“Damian—” Eleanor tries again.

“This is my decision to make.” He snaps. “ _Leave._ ”

“Ten minutes.” She says, and immediately regrets it. “If he’s not out within ten minutes, we’ll come back.”

Ra’s nods, his face unreadable and Eleanor turns and leaves. It takes a second for Jason to follow, but eventually he does. They stand in silence outside the thick wooden doors to the inner compound in agonizing silence, watching the minutes tick by as if they are hours.

_“Status?”_ Tim calls over their comms.

Eleanor sighs. “We’re getting what we came for. Any news on your end?”

_“It’s quiet.”_ Steph sounds like she’s smiling. _“Too quiet.”_

Jason snorts, and Eleanor can hear Cass’s small giggle as Tim sighs loudly. _“What she means is there’s been no activity. Do you want us to head out?”_

“No, stand by for another five and then meet us at the rendezvous.”

_“Copy.”_

The door opens exactly ten minutes later, Damian walks out looking completely unharmed. A small piece of paper tucked securely in his hand. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Grandfather has decided we have overstayed our welcome. We best leave before he decides we are taking too long.”

He starts walking without waiting for a reply. Eleanor looks to Jason who only offers a shrug, seemingly just as confused as she is.

“Are you okay?” She asks hesitantly when she catches up to Damian.

“I’m fine, clearly.”

That’s not what she meant, but maybe it’s better if Dick handles the emotional turmoil she sees in him. When he doesn’t think she’s looking, Damian gets this confused and hurt look in his face, his mouth a tense line and his brow furrowed. He holds the paper up between his index and middle finger when she doesn’t reply. Eleanor takes it and tucks it safely away in one of her belt pockets. They weren’t quite out of enemy territory yet, and she didn’t want any of Ra’s assassins to suddenly get any idea while she’s distracted.

Tim, Steph, and Cass are already by the private airstrip when they get there. The smaller jet Damian had flown parked next to the larger plane the five of them had arrived in. They walk up the ramp to the big one, and Tim gives one glance to Damian before he scowls.

“What’s _he_ doing here?”

“Being far more useful than you, _Drake_.” Damian sneers back, anything to say he was affected by Ra’s words, gone from his face.

“Before you start.” Eleanor says, pressing the button to raise the ramp. “Let’s see what we actually came here for.”

Tim snaps his mouth shut, but doesn’t take his eyes off Damian. Jason just slumps down in a seat next to Cass as Eleanor opens her belt pouch and opens the folded letter.

_‘Cfka jb fk qeb Hebkqff Jlrkqxfkp.’_

She stares at the letters in absolute confusion for about five seconds before curiosity takes over the rest of them and they crowd her to get a peak.

“It’s a cipher.” Tim and Jason say at the same time.

“Of course it’s a cipher.” Damian tsks. “Even someone as simple minded as Brown could figure that out.”

“Hey.” Steph complains. “You do realise we are on the same team right? No need to be so _rude_.”

“Shift by three.” Eleanor speaks up louder, to try and drown out any starting arguments. “It’s a Cesar shifted cipher text.” She points to the first word. “Look, C becomes F.”

“Fully translated it would be _‘Find me in the Khentii Mountains’_.” Tim spells out.

“Guess we got our next destination.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it! Happy holidays to the rest!  
> Headcanon #73 Damian totally learned how to paint from Ra's. Or was inspired to learn it from him.  
> Stay safe out there <3


	12. My darlin', I'll be all you need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I try to be strong, well, I got demons_   
>  _So can I lean on you? I need a_   
>  _Strong heart and a soft touch_   
>  _And you're the one when I want love_
> 
> “Like what you see?” He teases, running his thumb under the band of his sweats.  
> “I don’t know,” she grins back. “Take it off slowly and I’ll tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains smut.

The multiple screens in front of her is still filtering through the information they’ve compiled on the Khentii Mountain range in northern Mongolia. Eleanor stretches through another yawn, wincing when that crick in her neck protests. Absentmindedly she grabs for the mug of tea to her right, only to find the liquid cold when she takes a sip. With a grumble she puts the mug back down and rubs the side of her face, blinking to try and focus on the information again.

One of the satellites had been hovering over the mountain range for three days straight, they had the highest image resolution imaginable for the area and they hadn’t really found anything that stuck out. There was of course the ruins that littered the mountain, but they seemed more tourist attraction than actual hideout for whoever it was that had ‘sent’ the message. The legends surrounding the Khentii mountains spoke of a hidden grave where Genghis Khan had been buried. Nothing indicated that it was the case though. Sooner or later they’d have to go there themselves and figure out if there was something the satellite had missed.

And that task in it self could take days if not weeks. She was so done with this already, Eleanor just wanted answers and then forget about it like it was a bad dream. Which probably wasn’t going to happen, the fear of having someone else mess with her mind was a fucking constant these days. If she could only figure out the _why_ then she was sure it was going get better. The why and the whom.

The clock strikes four am and Eleanor fights another yawn, tabbing through multiple programs to find the tracking one for everyone currently out in Gotham. Jason in the lower Bowery, Cassandra near City Hall, Dick’s tracker moving rapidly along Amusement Mile. Both Steph and Tim’s are offline, they’d called it a night hours ago, and while Damian had protested at first, he had in the end accepted the order of going back to the penthouse. He was already on a short leash from stealing the batplane and following them to Europe.

Eleanor has to admit that she still feels bad about how it went down. Allowing Damian—because she had allowed, there was no other word for it—to be alone with someone who’d previously tried to kill him. Maybe Ra’s had had a change of heart, doubtful but the possibility was there, it didn’t make her feel any better though. She’d set aside the safety of her family to get answers. Even though Damian had tried to kill her, and Tim. Eleanor didn’t exactly need to have a PhD in psychology to know that his upbringing hadn’t left much room for love. That he’d been treated like a weapon, and that was sure to leave mental scarring.

Bruce hadn’t been the perfect dad sure, but he had loved them all in his own way. And he’d always tried to do what he thought was best for them.

She draws in a shaky breath. Rubbing at her eyes again.

How she missed him.

Bruce had never been good at talking, or expressing genuine emotion. He’d been distant at best and cold at worst. Yet there had been this ever precent sense of safety that Eleanor never got from anyone else. Knowing that he was there, lurking or otherwise. Even if he had disappointed her more times than she could count, he was still her father and Eleanor just… _missed_ him.

There hadn’t been much time to mourn in the past two months. If she still went to her therapist, he would tell her that she was deflecting, no doubt. Overworking to try and not process it.

It was something of a speciality of the Bat-clan.

A hand on her shoulder and a warm mug of chai being gently handed over to her stops the emotional breakdown before it happens. She looks up through tear blurred eyes to see Alfred’s ever patient face gazing back at her with unjudging understanding.

“Thank you.” Eleanor murmurs, taking the mug.

“Perhaps it is time to call it a night, Miss Eleanor.”

“In a little bit,” Eleanor hums, she doesn’t want to go to bed before she knows that everyone is safe. She arches an eyebrow at the butler. “What are you doing up so early?”

Alfred smiles. “I’ve only needed four hours of sleep since I was sixteen, Miss.”

“Oh.” She has always kind of wondered how Alfred got so many things done seemingly out of nowhere. There had always been a joke among them that Alfred was a meta—it wasn’t true of course. But it sure felt like it sometime, especially when he appeared when you needed it the most.

Eleanor looks down into the cup of chai, idly running her fingers over the heated ceramic. “I was thinking about dad.”

Alfred is silent for a moment, and she immediately wishes she could take back her words. She’d lost a father, but Alfred had basically raised Bruce, he’d lost a son. “Master Bruce remains a constant in my thoughts as well, my dear. It is only natural.”

It feels like her heart is in her throat, changing the subject would be so much easier. She takes a deep breath, then a sip of the tea. “I miss him.”

“As do I.” The hand on her shoulder returns and squeezes gently.

“Is it… sometimes I think about him and I get really angry.” She says breathily. “I wonder how he could, I don’t know. Leave us like this…? He always seemed so invincible, how…?” Eleanor reaches up quickly to wipe away the errant tears that fall from her eyes. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Eleanor.” Alfred gently reprimands her. “You have every right to be angry with him.”

“It feels wrong though. It’s not like he can… it’s not like anything’s going to change.”

“Anger is rarely logical, my dear.” Alfred’s hand leaves her shoulder. “And perhaps in time you will learn to forgive him.”

“Time heal all wounds?” She looks up with a wry smile.

“Time makes them more bearable.” Alfred returns her smile with an equally wry one. She’s unsure if it’s comforting or not, but the sound of the batmobile interrupts any more emotional confessions—which she’s insanely grateful for.

Eleanor takes another sip of her tea, then puts the mug down on the desk as she gets up. Her joints pop when she stretches, and another yawn spills out of her lips when she walks over to the railing overlooking the parking spot for the car.

Dick is already out of it when she gets there, but what catches her off guard is the door on the other side of the car opening.

“Selina?” Confusion colours her words. Selina Kyle is dressed as Catwoman, though her goggles are hanging around her neck and the cowl pulled away from her head. The trademark whip still resting on the belt around her hips. Eleanor hasn’t seen the older woman since the small family only-funeral they’d held for Bruce six-or-so weeks ago. Selina had been fairly upset at that time, not that Eleanor could blame her much. The relationship the two had was… complicated, to say the least, but Selina had always had a positive effect on Bruce. And to be quite honest, Eleanor had always been fond of the woman, anyone that could take Batman’s bullshit without flinching and then giving back as good as she got was good in her books.

“Hello, kitten.” Selina smiles coyly, following Dick up the stairs. “Long time no see.”

“Hey.” Dick murmurs, pulling the cowl off and leaning in to kiss Eleanor cheek. She murmurs the greeting back before turning her attention back to Selina.

“It has been a while. How… We’ve not really seen much of you in the city.” Ignoring the fact that Eleanor hasn’t actually been out on the streets as Blackbird in, oh, about six weeks. There hadn’t been any big reports of museum heists or rare items reported getting stole as of late.

Selina hums. “I’ve been preoccupied. Traveling.” It goes unsaid, but Eleanor can see the _‘avoiding Gotham’_ in her eyes.

“Well, it’s good to see you again. What brings you by?”

“Business I’m afraid.” Selina’s green eyes sparkle in the light of the Bunker. “You look exhausted, kitten.”

Eleanor smiles at the nickname. “Oh you know, no rest for the wicked.” She looks over to where Dick is pulling the rest of the cowl and cape off his shoulders. He’s leaning more on his left leg, which—a sprained ankle maybe? Or just a bad landing or hit. But at least he’s come home with no broken bones or wounds that needs stitching. That is, in itself, a relief.

“It’s fairly strange, isn’t it?” Selina follows her gaze.

“Unbelievably so.” Eleanor nods. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing him in that.”

“But,” the other woman pauses, “he’s remained himself.”

She looks over again, sees Dick’s worn out smile of gratitude as Alfred takes the cape from his hands. Maybe Selina wasn’t close enough to him to notice the subtle differences that Eleanor saw, or maybe Eleanor was clinging too hard on to the past to accept their new reality. Dick might have taken on new responsibilities, trying to fill in the hole left by Bruce. But he was still the kind man with an easy smile, ready to help those that needed it. That had never changed.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, not wanting to think about it anymore. She changes the subject, “so what type of business?”

“We needed an update on her underworld contacts.” Dick says, stretching as he walks over. “If you wouldn’t mind?” He gestures for the computer, and Selina smiles again, reaching up to gently touch Eleanor’s cheek—it’s such a motherly touch that Eleanor almost wants to cry, before Selina sashays over to the tech. Giving Alfred a small nod of hello when she gets there.

“You know you don’t have to stay up and wait for me right?” Dick asks softly, taking a step closer to brush Eleanor’s hair over her shoulder.

“I know,” she smiles. “Habit.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Dick reminds her, and she sighs, ducking her head when she steps into his arms. Even though the armour digs in to her sides it’s still a comfortable weight when he envelop her. His cheek rests against her temple and they ever so slowly rock from side to side.

“Never hurts to have an extra eye on things.”

“True.” He kisses the side of her head. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

A chuckle escapes her, she raises her head from his chest to lean in and kiss him instead. “You have.” She murmurs. “But I’ll love you even more once you get out of this suit and take a shower.”

“Ow.” Dick grins, stealing another kiss. “Are you telling me I stink?”

“Only a little.” She ghosts her fingers over the bit of the suit that’s been made thinner just for him, “I’ve been wanting a bubble bath for a while now, want to join me?”

His eyes flicker across her face in interest. “You’re not too tired?”

“Not anymore.” She smiles, wetting her lips.

He glances over to where Selina and Alfred are small talking while Selina updates their files, then back to her, confliction clear as day in his blue eyes. Eleanor laughs silently, not bothering to hide the smile that forces its way up on her face.

“I—”

“It’s okay.” She leans in, kissing his cheek. “I’ll wait for you.”

“You’re the best.” He grins back, squeezing her lightly before he lets her go.

“Mhmm. Don’t take too long, boy wonder.”

Eleanor pulls away from him with another stroke of her fingers over the material of his suit where she knows he’ll feel it. Then walks over to the desk she’d previously occupied and grabs the mug of tea and her phone before saying her goodbyes to Selina and Alfred. The older woman gives her a knowing wink before Eleanor gets to the elevator, though Alfred is kind enough, or maybe just polite enough to ignore the slight public display of affection that just happened.

Her phone notifies her that Cass returns to the Bunker just as she steps out of the elevator, and not five minutes later she gets a text from Jason saying that he’s crashing at a safehouse in the lower city. It had taken much convincing and a little bribery(maybe even some guilt tripping) to get him to agree to let her know that he was home safe after a night out. Still, she’s glad that he keeps up his end of the bargain, otherwise she’d actually have to go out there and track him down.

Maybe she was a little overbearing sometimes. But hey, she’s already lost Jay once. She’ll do anything in her power to make sure it doesn’t happen again. And the texting was a compromise from his end.

With the last of her tea drained she puts the mug in the dish washer and quickly makes her way into the en-suite of her and Dick’s shared bedroom. The jacuzzi is one of those over the top luxury things that in reality, isn’t necessary to have, yet Eleanor loves. The pulsating jet streams works wonders on sore muscles, and it’s big enough to comfortably fit both her and Dick. She starts filling it up with slightly too hot water and scented lavender for the bubbles, then dims the light in the room.

She’s just managed to sink into it when the door opens and Dick steps in with his hair damp, dressed in a loose fitting tee and sweatpants. She’s low key grateful that he thought to take a small shower beforehand, because stepping into a bath while he’s spent the past seven or so hours running around Gotham is just plain nasty.

“Hey there Sunshine.”

“You started without me.” He pouts, closing the door and pulling the tee over his head.

Eleanor laughs. “I had to make sure the water wasn’t too hot for you.”

“It’s scalding isn’t it?”

She hums, shifting forward in the bath to lean against the edge to more… appreciatively, watch how the muscles of his torso shifts with his movements. Even with the scars and small beauty marks that dot his body, he’s still insanely good looking. She swears he could have been a model in another life.

“Like what you see?” He teases, running his thumb under the band of his sweats.

“I don’t know,” she grins back. “Take it off slowly and I’ll tell you.”

Dick laughs out loud, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as his shoulders shake. Eventually, he does as she asks though, slowly, and enticingly moving the offending grey fabric away from his hips, until he’s stood in front of her gloriously naked. She hums again, unabashedly letting her eyes roam over his body.

“Very much like what I see.”

“That’s good.” He chuckles, taking a step forward to get in the tub.

Eleanor throws a hand up, stopping him in his tracks. “Grab the oil?”

Pouting, he turns to the small assortment of bath products on the sink. “Which one?”

She bites her lip, again, letting her eyes roam over the expanse of his back, down to the rather shapely curve of his ass. One of the best parts of him, though Eleanor couldn’t really decide which part she was more fond of, the whole package was kind of a deal breaker. Maybe his eyes, the sky blue that looked almost as if he had contacts, or how he constantly wore his heart on his sleeve. Though that was a more personality thing than an attractive body part. She loves watching the muscles on his back flex, and the shape of his hips when he’s not wearing any shirts. The ass holds a special place in her heart though.

“My eyes are up here.” He chuckles, and she winks at him, not at all ashamed of getting caught staring.

“The bergamot one.”

He picks a couple of bottles up before he finds the right one then takes the small steps to the tub. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” Eleanor takes the bottle, shifting away in the water to make space for him. Never say she didn’t know how to get what she wanted.

“That’s sneak— _fuck_ , babe, it’s _scalding_.” He complains.

“Big baby.” She mutters, adding a couple of drops of the oil into the water. It’s a perfectly _fine_ temperature thank you very much.

He huffs then proceeds to take ages to actually sit down in the bath. When he finally does though, he sighs and leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes.

“This was a good idea.”

“Rough night?” In the water, she trails her fingers over his ankle, the one she’d seen him try and avoid standing on for too long.

“Nothing too terrible, just had a bad landing.”

She hums, moving his foot into her lap and gently starts pressing her fingers against the bruised muscle.

“Hey, I know we haven’t spoken about it properly. But do you—that is, want to come back out there? It’s been a while.” He murmurs, wincing slightly when she presses to hard.

“I don’t know.” Eleanor admits. “I still want to help people, but after dad… I—maybe there’s something else I could do? Maybe, the work that the foundation does, it—does that sound dumb?” She was a fighter, always had been. And she wanted to protect the people she cared about too, but the idea of going out every night and busting up criminals just didn’t have the same appeal that it used to.

“Of course not.”

“But?”

Dick offers a small smile. “I miss teaming up out there.”

“Me too. I guess it’s just taking me some time to get used to the idea of you being Batman—and I know, I know that it’s been weeks now but…” She sighs, this is usually how their arguments began and she really didn’t want another one of those. Ever again.

He makes shapes with the bubbles before he speaks. “I’m still not used to it, and honestly babe, I don’t know if I ever will be. Sometimes when I see my reflection in a building I feel like a pretender. I keep wondering if I’m just holding out for someone more qualified or thinking it’s a temporary thing… I—I miss being just Nightwing.”

She can see him in her mind’s eye, with his black suit and the blue bird shape on his chest that ran all the way down to the tips of his middle and ring finger. Always with a quick quip or a funny pun that was just as likely to get the bad guys to groan as it was to make them confused. It hadn’t even been two months, but it still felt like a lifetime ago since she saw him defy gravity like it didn’t apply to him. The batsuit just didn’t have the same flair to it.

“Alfred told me to think of it as a role, ‘the show must go on’ and all that.”

“Alfred usually knows what he’s talking about.” She says, looking up to meet Dick’s eyes, the blue glimmer like stars in the soft lighting.

“Yeah.” Dick’s lips twitches at the corners for another small smile. “I just don’t know how long I’m supposed to think of it like that. When does it stop being Bruce’s and start being mine?”

Eleanor swallows, glancing down into the water again. “I can’t answer that. But what I can answer is that I’ll be here always. With you.”

“Out there too?”

“Yeah, just maybe… not always?” She hesitates. “Is that okay?”

“Whatever makes you comfortable, pretty bird. You know I’ve got your back, right?”

“That was never in question.” She smiles. “I love you.”

Dick grins back. “Love you too. Until the last star in the sky goes out.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Mhmm, it’s forever, and ever, and ever and ever and—”

“Dick.” A laugh tumbles out of her lips.

He wriggles his foot in her hand playfully, nudging her calf with his other leg.

“You know,” Eleanor starts, trying and failing to curb the smile on her face, “it feels like ages since we just spent some time alone together.”

The smile falls from his face with a grimace. “I’m sorry.”

“No it—” a sigh escapes her. “It wasn’t a complaint.” She continues the gentle motions in the water. “I just, I guess it’s just nice to have you all to myself sometimes.”

When she looks up, Dick’s head is tilted and he’s watching her before moving a hand out of the water to beacon her forward. “C’mere.”

The water laps dangerously at the edge of the tub when she slides across the small space separating them and straddles his lap. The temperature difference in the air is great enough that goosebumps race across her wet shoulders. She feels Dick’s fingers caress her thigh and moves up until he’s got a hand resting over the small of her back.

“I know we’ve got like a billion commitments right now,” he starts, the blues of his eyes flickering over her face. “But once things have calmed down, I would very much like to take you away from here. Maybe a cabin in the Swiss alps just for us? Or somewhere warmer if you prefer.”

Eleanor runs her hands over his abdomen up to his pecs and rests them on his shoulders. “A ski vacation?”

He hums.

“You know, I’ve heard that there are these glass igloos in Finland where you can see the northern lights.”

“Yeah?”

She nods and Dick leans in a bit, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. “Then we’ll go there. Just the two of us, for an entire week.”

A chuckle escapes her, she brushes her nose against his. “Calm down, cowboy. An entire week? You think Gotham can survive that long without you?”

“Mhmm, I’ll ask Kate to fill in. And with Cass back it should be alright.”

“What about—”

He silences her with another kiss, nipping at her bottom lip as he grabs her ass with one hand and moves the other one up her back.

“We can work out the details later.” He says once they part.

Well, who’s she to argue with that.

She leans in again, this time deepening their kiss by flicking her tongue against his lips, warmth blooming out from her chest when he opens his mouth to allow her access. She curls her fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. Her breasts pressing against his chest. The gentle slide of their skin together making her feel hotter than the actual water. The soft moan that escapes her is muffled by Dick’s lips when he pulls her in close enough that she can feel the half hard length of him pressing against her inner thigh.

“I love you.” She murmurs again, breaking the kiss. She’ll never tire from saying it and having it said back.

Dick murmurs the words back, nuzzling against her cheek and running his hand from her back to her hip and then his fingers pressing between her folds to expertly find her clit. A surprised noise escapes her at the intense pleasure that shockwaves through her body, and she feels him immediately pull back a bit, a question burning in his eyes. She rocks her hips back into his touch at the same time as she nods her head.

“Just relax.” He murmurs, guiding her forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder, and brushing her hair away to plant a kiss against her throat. “Let me take care of you.” She takes a deep breath of the lavender bubbles still floating around them, settling against him in the jacuzzi more comfortably.

Small, pleasured noises escape her when he starts to rub her clit again, the water ripples around their movement, the air starting to feel almost as hot as she is. She loves his fingers, slender and long, yet so very powerful. She feels warm and protected in the water with him. Her breathing getting deeper and her eyes fluttering close. He circles her clit again, then pushes one digit inside of her. Eleanor pants his name against his neck, gripping on to his arms to make small, aborted motions with her hips.

“More.” She demands breathlessly, and a second finger joins the first.

“Just look at you.” Dick murmurs, scissoring her open. “Beautiful. Gorgeous.” He presses a kiss against her cheek and Eleanor lifts her head to try capture his lips instead. She breaks away to moan loudly when his fingers find that perfect spot inside her that makes her knees tremble and the muscles in her thighs tense. Pushing his fingers in and out of her cunt with ever swipe of his thumb hitting her clit, she nuzzles his neck, panting loudly as blood rushes through her ears. A third finger joins the other two, and it’s a stretch, but she’s relaxed, and Dick is careful enough that it’s just a small discomfort for a second before she adjusts.

“You’re so tight babe,” Dick murmurs against her ear, his free arm wrapped around her waist to hold her against him. She breathily moans his name with every twist of his fingers. “I’ve been thinking about you like this for weeks now. It’s been driving me insane.”

“T-tell me.” The words tumble breathlessly out of her lips.

“Yeah okay... I’ve been thinking about laying you out on our bed, maybe tying you up so you can't move at all." She shudders at the mental image, "bring you to the edge over and over, and only when you beg me in that pretty broken voice of yours I'd give you release.” Another twist of his fingers have him brushing over her g-spot and Eleanor sees stars behind her eyelids.

Panting she murmurs, “what else?”

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” he teases, and she bites down a bit harder over his pulse.

A breathy chuckle escapes him. “I’d fuck you until you’re full of me.” His lips moves against her cheek. “Again and again until my come is dripping out of you. Then—” he pauses, both his movement and his words and Eleanor whines in protest. “Then I’d plug you up until I was ready to go again. Would you like that, pretty bird?”

“ _Fuck_.” She moans, “yes. Dick please. _Please_.”

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He whispers hotly, circling his thumb over her clit again and she manages to nod as another shudder of pleasure crashes through her body.

“Please,” she moans. _So close, almost there_. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you. You’re such a good girl.” She gasps at the praise falling from his lips. His fingers twisting and curling as he pumps them in and out of her. Eleanor leans her head against his, feels his mouth and tongue lapping over her collar bone before he bites her hard. The pain mixes with the pleasure and she comes with a muffled cry, the orgasm snapping like a rubber band through her body and pleasure curling all over her as she rocks against Dick’s hand, holding on to him like she’d float away if she weren’t. Dick keeps working his fingers in and out of her through her orgasm, until she shudders and all but goes boneless against his chest. Making small whimpering noises from the overstimulation.

After a while, his other hand emerges out of the water and slowly combs her hair away. “Okay?”

All she manages is a low agreeing grunt. Exhaustion slowly creeping in with her post orgasmic bliss. She could probably fall asleep like this, which wasn’t really the best idea she’s ever had.

Dick chuckles, pressing kisses against her cheek and jaw, pestering her until she opens her eyes to nudge him away. He withdraws his fingers out of her as she shifts in his lap, the small hitch of her breath earns her a smug smile and she leans in to kiss him to wipe it off his face. It’s a lazy kiss, long and outdrawn his tongue slowly stroking her own, pushing into her mouth and tangling together. It isn’t until she starts moving her own hands down over his abs and the faint trail of wet hair leading to his cock that Dick pulls away.

“You don’t have to.”

“And if I want to make you feel good too?” She murmurs, not moving her hand, yet stroking her fingers over his warm skin.

Dick shudders, lips stretching into a smile as he leans in to brush their noses together. Then whispers in a throaty, seductive voice that makes her shiver despite the warmth of the room. “Then by all means, I’m yours.”

It feels like her heart is simultaneously melting and exploding in her chest. This amazing man that she loves, giving himself to her like this, trusting her like this. It’s the greatest gift she’ll ever have. Eleanor surges up and cups his face, pressing fervent kisses along his lips and cheek, until he’s laughing throatily. Dick’s winds his arms around her waist, holding her against him as the water ripples around them.

“Lean back.” She murmurs once she’s lowered herself into his lap again. Dick complies without a word, resting his head against the softer headrest and raising his arms out of the water to drape them over the edge of the tub.

Still feeling a bit hazy from her own orgasm, Eleanor starts off slowly. Kissing his lips first, then before it can develop to anything more than just a light kiss, she moves her mouth down over his jaw, to his throat. Nipping gently then soothing the hurt with her tongue. She feels the vibrations of his hum when she starts running her hands over his chest. Alternating with scraping her blunted nails across his skin and massaging the muscles underneath.

Another soft noise escapes him when she runs a finger over a pert nipple, she does it again, this time with a nail and Dick opens his mouth to let out a quiet sigh.

“You’re such a tease.” He half heartedly complains when she makes no motion to go for the part of him he’s probably aching for her to touch.

Eleanor smiles smugly against his throat. “I am?” She reaches down between them in the water, digging her fingers lightly into his upper thigh and gets a breathy moan as a reward. She widens her stance a bit on her knees, allowing him to spread his legs wider.

“Such a tease.” He repeats, smiling.

When she cups his balls the smile disappears as quickly as it got there, replaced by a thick swallow and a low groan. Ever so gently she keeps up the motion of gently squeezing and letting go, until she sees Dick’s hands fist out of the water, his arms trembling from effort at keeping them to himself.

“Good boy.” She breathes and finally wraps her fingers around him. Is it really a surprise that they both have a praise kink?

He inhales sharply, hips jerking upwards to try and get friction, it makes the water ripple dangerously close to the edge of the tub. She waits until he regains some sense of control before she agonizingly slowly starts to move her hand in an upward twist. Knowing exactly how he likes it.

A curse stumbles out of his lips when she drags her nails over his side, and mouths at his throat again, determined to leave a mark on his tanned skin.

“You said you’ve been thinking about this for a while right?” She murmurs, not expecting a reply. “I have too. I’ve been thinking about how much I love your cock.” Eleanor drags her teeth over his pulse. “And how much I love having you inside me.”

Dick’s breath hitches, a murmur of something that sounds like her name falling off his lips when she circles her thumb over the slit of his cock.

“It’s been so difficult not to think about how you’d stretch me out, and come inside of me.”

“Ellie.” The flush on his cheeks are beautiful, she presses her lips to his open mouthed, and messy. Their tongues tangling before she breaks it.

“You want that, Sunshine? Coming inside of me?” Eleanor bites her lip, whispering the last bit out like a filthy secret in the hot air around them. “Make me pregnant, maybe?”

Dick shudders, his hands slipping back into the water to grab at her. Pressing her close enough that she has to withdraw her hand to not crush it between them. Eagerly and enthusiastically his lips crash against hers, and she feels his cock rub against her with the small jerky motions of his hips.

She hadn’t expected _that_ to be such a turn on. But the more she thinks about it the more she likes it, and evidently by Dick’s fervour, he’s into it too.

When they break apart to breathe, Eleanor pulls away enough to see the blown out pupils in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Hell yes.” He murmurs back, “fuck that—not now but, the image—you heavy with—fuck—,” he rambles, then kisses her again, and again and Eleanor has to try and focus on not smiling too much, because yeah that _is_ hot. Even though she knows that she’s got a top of the line implant in her arm that stops her from getting pregnant. She would definitely like to explore that newfound kink more later.

She manages to pull back enough to get a hand around him again and then in one smooth motion sinks down on his cock until their hips are flush together. Dick groans and she gasps, glad that they’d had the foresight to actually prep her beforehand. It never fails to amaze her how complete Dick makes her feel like this, so _full._ His hands grips her hips to tightly that she knows there’ll be marks there tomorrow.

“You’re so good to me.” He breathily moans, teeth moving over her collar bone.

She knows he’s close, can feel it in the tension of his body. Yet he doesn’t move until she slowly starts gyrating her hips against him. “Come on,” she encourages. “Come on, let go.” She splays her fingers over his cheeks, feeling how warm he is. Dick’s eyes are closed, and his brow is pulled up with every panting thrust. Faintly, Elenore is aware how much the water is splashing around them and onto the floor as she bounces on his cock.

When he comes he curls against her chest, mouthing at the swell of her breasts, and arms tightly wrapping around her as he empties into her. Eleanor lets out a soft urging noise, running her fingers through his damp hair, working her muscles around him to draw out his orgasm as long as possible.

Afterwards, a comfortable silence stretches across the room, she lays lazy kisses against his cheek and jaw, nudging him lightly to lean back against the headrest again, where she continues to pepper kisses along his throat and shoulder.

“I love you.” Dick croaks once he regains his breath.

Smiling, she runs her fingers under his eye, down the slope of his nose and then over his lips, before she leans in to give him another chaste kiss. “I know.”

She leans against him, enjoying the peace of hearing his heart slow down to a familiar rhythmical pattern in his chest. One of Dick’s hands keeps running up her back soothingly, the dripping sound of the water being the only thing heard beyond their own breathing for a long time. It isn’t until a shiver wreaks through her body that she realises how cold the water has become, and Dick immediately shifts to look at her.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Eleanor yawns wide enough that her jaw pops and it makes her grimace. “Good idea.” She murmurs.

The clean up is more of a pain then she’d like to admit, but eventually they find themselves clean and warm bundled together in the large king size bed with the windows dimmed down enough to not let any of the morning sun light in.

She’s exhausted, yet a question burns in her mind, niggling her enough that she props herself up to comb his damp hair away from his eyes.

“What?” he rumbles, looking just as deeply tired and satisfied as she feels.

“Impregnation kink?”

A small chuckle escapes him, a pretty pink colouring his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess.”

Eleanor watches the bashful expression come to life on his face, and it isn’t until he looks away that she allows herself to smile.

“You’re adorable, you know that?”

He grunts. “Are you kink-shaming me?”

“Absolutely not.” She relaxes back into the bed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It was pretty hot. In a primitive sort of lizard brain way.”

“You—” he huffs, “you little shit.”

His fingers dance across her ribs and Eleanor squeals in laughter as he rolls them over. He pins her down and keeps tickling her until they’re both out of breath, and her smile loses the teasing edge. Dick strokes some of her hair away from her face, and then leans down and kissing her lightly.

“It’s okay right?”

“Very.” She hums. “I wouldn’t mind exploring more of it.”

He smiles. “Yeah?”

Eleanor leans up to brush her nose against his, leaving a soft kiss on his lips too. “And someday maybe even make it a reality too.”

He rolls over to the side, she happily goes with him when he pulls her along. “Someday.” He echoes.

Eleanor places a hand over his heart, kissing his shoulder and burrows in closer to him to steal some warmth. “Good night.” She murmurs, knowing fully well that it’s nearing six o’clock in the morning.

“Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funfact: I did not plan for Selina to make an appearance, she kinda just snuck in there.  
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this small break from the plot. I've got about 2 or 3 more chapters planned, so we're nearing the climax.(Ha).  
> Chapter name taken from the lyrics of Ed Sheeran's Put it All on Me(feat. Ella Mai). It's a really good song! Give it a listen :)  
> Happy new years, and stay safe <3


	13. You'd be so proud of what we've made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I found a way to handle fear_   
>  _When I'm alone and no one's there_   
>  _I'm better now than I was before_   
>  _Not running away_   
>  _But learning to face what I'm scared of_
> 
> “So everything’s alright between you and the boss-man?”  
> “Yes?” Eleanor hates how it comes out as a question. “Shouldn’t we be? Alright I mean.”

“So everything’s alright between you and the boss-man?” Steph’s question catches her so off guard she stumbles over her own feet and almost gets a face full of snow.

“Yes?” Eleanor hates how it comes out as a question. “Shouldn’t we be? Alright I mean.”

“Oh you know,” Steph continues trudging through the snow, slightly out of breath. “There were some rumours about you two.”

Eleanor scowls, not that Stephanie can see it with the two of them completely covered up with their respective suits specifically made for the harsh mountainside weather. Seriously, it’s _July_ and they’re marching through snow because like Eleanor previously thought—there was no other option when the satellite weren’t picking anything up.

“And _who_ is spreading these rumours?”

The whole family were prone to do it, actually scratch that—the whole superhero community just _loves_ to gossip, you’d think they’re all old ladies with nothing better to do than come together and talk about who’s doing who.

“I’d never kiss and tell.” Steph sounds too smug for her own good. “I’m glad you two are doing better though. Because you two are better together.”

Her scowl turns into a small smile, but before she can answer Steph keeps going in that light teasing tone that Eleanor’s come to be wary for.

“Besides, I hate it when mom and dad argue.”

“I swear, if we weren’t on a scouting mission, you’d be eating snow right now.”

Steph giggles, amused by her own jokes.

They both stop by a peak, Eleanor reaches up to tap the side of her goggles to zoom in on the distant surroundings. It’s only their second day out here, and they hadn’t even canvassed one percent of the mountain range itself. With Dick and Damian searching from the west, Jason, and Cass from the northern side, which left Eleanor and Steph with the southern side. Tim was running ops from Gotham, he’d been benched by both Dick and Leslie after _lying_ about his arm being fine when they went after Ra’s.

It hadn’t gone over well. She’d seen the burning fury in Tim’s eyes before Leslie and stepped in to tell him he might lose the arm itself if he didn’t rest it. Which might have been a slight over exaggeration, but the point was that the damage weren’t anything to scoff at. He could lose his fine motor control—something that could be life and death out in the field.

Eleanor still felt guilty about it.

Even though Tim had told her several times he didn’t blame her.

Then again Krypto had repaid her with a fine outline of his teeth permanently marking her left forearm.

Of course, it didn’t help that everything was moving at glacial speeds when it came to finding out who was behind her conditioning too. The frustration mixing with the guilt that mixed with the need to find answers… it wasn’t a pretty combination.

At least Gotham was well protected. Kate hadn’t minded checking their routes, and Barbara had called in the Birds to watch over the city.

Eleanor looks over to Steph. The suit she’s wearing is camouflaged for snow ops, but the iconic Batgirl logo is still outlined in white on her chest. Eleanor had been a bit surprised when Cass gave it up, but she could understand wanting to redefine herself too. Steph fit as Batgirl though, even if she wasn’t out there every night, she was studying now. Steph had told her that she wanted to get into med school. Which meant—after taking a year off to travel with Leslie, she needed to get her grades up.

But there was a new drive to the young girl, like all of the pieces in her life was finally falling together.

“Speaking of being better.” Eleanor makes sure that her mic isn’t transmitting and pulls the fabric covering her mouth and nose down. “Did you and Red talk?”

Steph shifts a bit on her feet before she does the same. “We did. He told me about the stuff with his dad.”

Eleanor breathes in the cold mountain air to try and stop the tightness in her chest becoming something more.

“I asked him if he wanted to stay over at my place, you know?” Steph continues, sounding as if she’s barely holding on to her own anger. “Mom works mostly night shifts at the hospital so she wouldn’t really notice if he were gone during that time. But he…” She throws her hands up in a frustrated gesture.

“Stubborn?”

“The literal definition.”

Both of them smile, though Steph’s drops short. “I picked him up the other day at his dad’s place for lunch, and—you remember his dad got remarried?”

Eleanor nods. Dana Winters, the physical therapist that had helped Jack Drake after he came out of his coma, she’s younger than Jack by ten or so years, and had a more down to earth personality. Eleanor didn’t know her personally, they’d met briefly once at a gala that Jack Drake had been invited to but hadn’t spoken much. Though she does remember Tim telling her that Dana had a more positive impact on Jack’s life, and that the two of them had gotten along just fine.

“She was there.” Steph continues. “And it was like a completely different house.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eleanor’s not sure if she’s talking about the vigilante thing, or the gay thing.

“About Red? He wouldn’t have told her, and his asshole dad wouldn’t say anything either.” The younger shakes her head, her breath fogs when she exhales. “He’s burying himself in all of this work and honestly, I have no idea how to get him out of it. It’s not like we argue or anything it’s just like he doesn’t care about himself anymore.”

“He lost two close friends, and B.” Eleanor murmurs. “Maybe he just needs some time.”

“No, there’s something else.” Steph crosses her arms over her chest. “This secret project he’s working on that’s eating up all of his time. And I know Superboy and Impulse were close to him but he’s not even mourning them.”

“He’s compartmentalizing.” She offers. “It’s not the healthiest thing for obvious reasons, but maybe he needs to do it to keep going.”

“He’s forgetting to eat.”

Eleanor hadn’t quite realised that it was that bad.

“He barely sleeps and he only drinks zesti’s. I mean, he even lied to us about his arm being fine.” Steph looks lost and worried all at once, and Eleanor steps up to squeeze her shoulder.

“When we get back home, we’ll talk to him. Keep an eye out and makes sure he’s taking care of himself too.”

“Yeah.” Steph nods. “And if he doesn’t listen, we’ll lock him up until he does.”

Eleanor snorts, shaking her head as Steph grins widely.

“Speaking from experience, it’s _not_ pleasant.”

Steph shrugs. “We’ll sick Agent A on him.”

“Oh, that’s an idea.” Eleanor nods approvingly. Alfred is always a good choice whenever one of the family decides to be stubborn and self-destructive. “Come on, the sooner we check this part the sooner we can get warm again.”

Steph nods, pulling up her cover again and Eleanor does the same.

The ground evens out after a bit, and Eleanor once again scans the surroundings with her binoculars, cursing a bit under her breath when the sun breaks through the cloud cover and almost blinds her by reflecting in the snow. Still no tracks that she can see, so they keep going. Stephanie almost loses her balance when they cross a narrow part of the mountain, but Eleanor manages to grab her arm and steady her before she goes tumbling down. They make it about another hundred feet before their comms goes off and Dick’s voice crackle through it.

_“Anyone found anything?”_

“No tracks yet.” Eleanor says.

_“Nothing on our end either.”_ Jason replies. _“We sure this is the place?”_

That thought has occurred to her too, had Ra’s faked a message? Could he have tricked them? But if he actually where involved, then why hadn’t he done anything when they’d fought in the Himalayas? Or when they’d spoken to him a week ago?

Ra’s involvement didn’t make any sense, he didn’t just mess around with them for no purpose, there was always an agenda, hidden or otherwise. And usually more than one.

“It _has_ to be here, we don’t—”

_“Robin!”_ Dick’s voice abruptly cuts her off and Eleanor freezes on the spot.

There’s something moving out of the corner of her eyes, at first she thinks it’s just snow—the beginning of an avalanche maybe, but then there’s more movement and the glint of something cold and sharp. Eleanor jerks into motion and with a small warning cry of Steph’s alias, shoves the other girl away in time so that the shuriken thrown by the snow-assassin flies past them both.

Steph stumbles backwards, managing to catch herself by flipping just in time to avoid another thrown blade.

Eleanor dives into action, she’s got no time to stop and ask what’s going happening on the other end of their comms, but she can hear the occasional grunt from everyone connected to the channel through it. She spins on the spot, tries to gather her wits about her and count the emerging assailants, half a dozen. All dressed in white to blend in with the snow, and what stands out the most—all women.

Her hand drifts to the bō stashed securely in the hip holster on her side. She hears Stephanie’s soft crunching steps in the snow behind her as the women circle them.

“I guess a conversation is out of the window?” Steph says out loud, and Eleanor smiles under her mask, because they’re _finally_ getting somewhere.

It’s a standoff, they circle, waiting for the other to make the first move. A tense silence only broken by the wind howling overhead. The sun disappears behind cover again and one of them finally moves, launching herself at Steph just out of the corner of Eleanor’s eyes. She snaps the bō to its full length, catching the woman completely off guard by swinging it around and striking her in the upper arm. Steph follows the motion just like they’ve trained, first with a hard kick to the gut and finishing up with an even harder downward punch that sends the other woman sprawling. Blood leaving a bright red trail in the snow from the split lip.

Then it’s all motion, the cold Eleanor had been feeling up until that point disappears with every block and strike. Steph fights closely to her, allowing Eleanor to keep an eye on her—and keep her safe. Saying that though, Stephanie has come a long way from being the cocky girl that took on more than she could chew off, the training that Barbara put her through clearly has had a result. One of the women makes the mistake of thinking that Stephanie isn’t a as much of a threat and pays dearly for it when Steph drives her elbow into the assassins solar plexus, leaving her gasping for breath and for Steph to readily take advantage kick her feet out from under her.

Eleanor twirls the staff in her hand and brings it up in time to block a strike from two other assassins. Pushing them back, and with the tip of the electrified part, strikes one of them in the jaw. It forces Eleanor to take a step back in the snow. It’s difficult fighting in it, her footwork requires so much more focus. One wrong step could send her sliding down the slope of the mountain, and it was a rather long way down. With one of them stumbling away clutching her jaw with one hand, Eleanor manages to get the other one in a strangle grip with her staff.

“Who are you!?” She snarls, only to get no reply at all.

Through her comm she hears more fighting, grunts from her family and the sounds of weapons connecting with their targets.

Stephanie lets out a pained noise from behind Eleanor, so she reacts on instinct and lets the woman go before using her bō to leverage herself and kick the offender so hard in the chest that she stumbles backwards into the snow. Eleanor reaches down and hoists the younger back up on her feet, Stephanie’s chest rising and falling rapidly in exertion.

There’s a brief lull in the fighting, two out of the six assassin don’t get up out of the snow.

“Guess they’re not feeling chatty.” Steph murmurs, pulling the cover away from her mouth. Eleanor follows her lead, taking a deep breath of the icy air.

“We’ll make them talk.”

Eleanor dives back into the fray by kicking up snow in one of the assassin’s eyes and swings her staff in a wide arc—mainly meant to give her enough space to close the distance first. She gets in one of their face and smashes the middle of her staff up into her opponents nose, then delivers a brutal kick that twists another ones knee so badly Eleanor can hear the bone break over the rush of combat.

That is. The sound of herself and Stephanie, panting and grunting through the effort of the fight, footsteps that crunches in the snow and occasional feedback of the rest of the family.

None from the assassins.

Not even when the woman crumbles to the ground clutching at her broken leg.

No sound at all.

It’s _unnatural._

Eleanor barely manages to dodge the punch that would have knocked a couple of teeth out of her mouth, she doesn’t dodge the kick to the small of her back. And all though the armour dampens it, it still hurts. She loses her staff in the snow, and brings her arms up to block another punch and then rolls with it, gripping the woman’s wrist and twisting her until her back is pressed against Eleanor’s front.

She kicks her down into the snow and yanks the collar of her coat open only to see a precision scarring on her neck, where the larynx is located.

No surprise they can’t make any sounds then, the only thing that would escape are breathy whispers if they’re all mutilated in the way that Eleanor suspects. Did they do it to themselves or was it done to them? Was it willing or forced?

She doesn’t get a chance to share the discovery with Steph—because as she looks up a new woman joins the fray. This one dressed differently, not in the same sort of snow camouflage that the other ones have. Instead it’s a sleek suit, in grey instead of white. With a hood and mask up to cover any distinguishable facial features.

The new addition tackles Eleanor so hard that they start rolling down the slope, Eleanor manages to wrestle free just in time to activate the blades on her wrist guards and dig them into the snow, barely stopping herself and the other woman from tumbling down a lethal fall. Eleanor can feel fingers clawing up her legs, and she grunts from the effort of holding them both up.

Further up Stephanie is struggling with the remaining three assassins, slowing down from both the unfamiliar terrain and the outdrawn fight. She grits her teeth in preparation, Eleanor isn’t about to leave Steph to face them alone. She makes sure she’s got proper grip with one arm, then she lifts the other and heaves upwards. Hearing the sound of metal scraping against the rock bed underneath the snow. The woman hanging from her legs shifts dangerously and for a second Eleanor thinks that the movement is going to cause them both to fall when she momentarily looses her grip.

She curses, redoubling her efforts to get back up.

Just as she’s about to get good enough leverage to heave them both the rest of the way to relative safety, the woman shifts and in a very surprisingly agile move, grips the edge and flips herself to an upright position on the cliffs edge. Eleanor scrambles to her feet, and they both square off. There’s a casual air about her opponent that makes Eleanor a bit wary.

For a second, Eleanor wonders how far she’d make it back up to Steph before a knife would embed itself in her back. No, never turn your back on an unknown enemy. Stephanie just had to hold out a bit longer on her own.

“Not bad.” The woman speaks in flawless English. “She might have been right about you.”

Eleanor scowls. “Who the hell are you? And who is _‘she’_?”

She doesn’t get an answer. The woman lunges and another deadly dance takes place, this time with a promise of that should Eleanor falter, a swift death would be guaranteed with the cliffs edge not too far away.

She’s good. Clearly adept at fighting in the conditions of the mountain, with a fighting style that’s varied enough that it forces Eleanor to adapt quickly and counter even quicker. Worst of all though, she’s driven. There’s a burning intensity in her dark eyes, a craving for violence and victory.

But Eleanor was trained by Batman.

The moment the other woman makes a mistake Eleanor pounces, it’s a dangerous but extremely effective takedown move that most practitioners of judo bans for a reason. But Eleanor doesn’t have time to be gentle when Steph is barely holding her own.

She throws the other woman down hard enough that her head bounces off the flattened snow, then hoists her up in a chokehold and at the same time grips her right hand—the dominant one and twists it up behind her back. It would take an extremely well trained martial artist to break out of it.

“Stop!” Eleanor shouts.

To her astonishment, all three of the assassins falter for a second. Steph spits blood into the snow.

Eleanor shifts her feet, makes sure that the other woman can’t set her off balance.

“Tell them to stand down, or I swear I’ll snap your arm like a fucking twig.” She hisses into her captive’s ear.

There’s a moment’s hesitation where nothing happens. Then the woman barks out something in a language that Eleanor recognizes—not because she can understand it, but because she’s spent hours upon hours listening to something similar. The strangest feeling of mixed terror and satisfaction races up her spine like she’s not wearing armour at all. This _is_ the right place.

Then satisfaction is drowned out by terror as in one swift motion Steph’s on her knees, the hood holding her hair falls away and one of the assassins yanks on the blonde tassels hard enough that it forces Steph’s head back, exposing her throat to a very sharp looking shuriken.

“No!” Panic tries to wrestle out of Blackbird’s carefully crafted disciplined persona. “Make them stop!”

“Relax, _onee-chan._ _”_ The assassin’s tone sounds like it’s teasing, and Eleanor might not speak many east Asian languages, but she does recognize the term for ‘big sister’ in Japanese. It’s almost enough to make loosen her grip in surprise. Almost. “They won’t hurt her, as long as you play by our rules.”

Eleanor grits her teeth. “What do you want?”

“What you’re here for.” She replies, a sharp laugh escaping her. “What you’ve been searching for. I want to give you answers.”

“Let Batgirl go.”

The woman huffs. “Now, now, _onee-chan._ We didn’t come this far by playing fair. Your precious American will not be harmed by me or mine. You have my word.”

“Your word means nothing to me.” Eleanor snaps back. “You attack us for no reason—”

“A test, _onee-chan._ _”_

“Stop calling me that!” It’s dumb to let her know that words are getting under Eleanor’s skin.

The woman goes lax, another laugh escaping her. “Why? It’s the truth.” Nope, she’s not going to fall for that rabbit hole quite just yet. She needs to focus on the actual problem in the moment first. “We don’t need her. But Mother was insistent that you and yours are not harmed. For now.”

Eleanor stares at Steph, sees the slight shift of her movements. Unnoticed by anyone who’s not trained with them.

“So what’ll it be? Bring the _busu_ , or leave her dead in the snow?”

Gritting her teeth, Eleanor slowly releases her captive, watching the woman stand and stretch before she reaches up and removes her hood and mask. She’s young, no older than Cassandra and Tim, and has a distinct mix of western and east Asian facial features with hair so dark it seems to draw the occasional sunlight in, and brown eyes that melds into black the further to the pupil it gets. She’s shorter than Eleanor though, reaching at best, five four.

“I’ve waited so long for this!” She says gleefully, and Eleanor realises what feels so off about her. There are no warmth in her eyes, nothing to indicate that she has any empathy for _anything_. She could just be a good actress, or there could be something else. She tilts her head, hair spilling like silk over her shoulder. “The other Americans are already collected. We’ll bring you there.”

She stiffens, the other…? She’d been too distracted to notice that her comm is completely silent. A stupid fucking rookie mistake. “You—”

“ _Relax, onee-chan._ _”_ Her grin reminds Eleanor of a shark. “Like I said, they’re not going to be hurt, as long as you comply of course. Mother is eager to see you.”

Eleanor ignores her for a second, tapping her commlink for any responses. “Batman? Hood?” When there’s no responses Eleanor’s stomach drops even further. “What did you do to them?”

The girl—because she _is_ a girl, keeps looking at her with that unsettling smile before she reaches for something that looks like a sleek metal EpiPen and pulls it out of her pocket.

“They’re bring brought to the stronghold, like I told you. Keep up, _onee-chan._ _”_ She twirls the object in her hand. “Are you ready to get answers yet?”

It’s what they came for. It’s… damn it.

“You promise not to hurt them?”

“Yes.” The girl exclaims, sounding exasperated. “For the millionth time, as long as you come with me they will be fine!”

The hesitation causes the girl to twitch in impatience.

“Fine.”

Still, Eleanor flinches away when she points the object towards her.

There’s an eyeroll from the girl. “It’s not going to kill you, just knock you out.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

She barks out another command in that dialect and Steph grits her teeth to stop the pained cry from escaping her when a shuriken is dug into her skin. Blood leaving a vibrant trail over her white armour. Eleanor curses, glaring at the girl in front of her for a second longer before she slowly holds her hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

If the others had already been taken… then it would be better if they were all in one spot. And this was the only way in. It would take too long to find them otherwise.

“Okay. Just—don’t hurt her.”

Smiling, the girl reaches up and presses the cold metal against Eleanor’s throat. The pinprick is painless enough and her last conscious thought is _‘Why is it always a knockout drug?’_ Before darkness takes over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I know that in canon Stephanie "dies" at the end of the gang wars in Gotham. But when I read it all I could think was "Leslie would _never_ do something like that!" It was such a break of her character all to get Bruce back to basics and push everyone away. So... I'm electing to ignore that stupid ass decision! They really could have handled it better. Please DC, write your characters with some consistency. _Please._
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Stay safe out there <3


	14. Look the Devil in the face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Look, I didn't power through the struggle_   
>  _Just to let a little trouble, knock me out of my position_   
>  _And interrupt the vision_   
>  _After everything I witnessed, after all of these decisions_
> 
> The woman is old, maybe in mid-eighties. Her grey hair is neatly tied back in a bun and she’s wearing a business suit with a two piece vest coat in black and matching pants. She looks like she’d have no trouble fitting in on the Wayne Enterprises board of directors.
> 
> “Mrs. Kushan?” The name leaves her lips with barely contained disbelief.

Consciousness creeps back to her just a little to begin with, she hears the crackle of some kind of fire and the soft sound of someone breathing not too far away. When her brain catches up with the rest of her wakeful state, Eleanor jerks in the armchair she’s in. Hands immediately flying up to the uncovered state of her face. Then to her waist where the comfortable weight of her utility belt is gone, and her thigh holster remains empty—she’d lost the bō in the snow, hadn’t she?

“Good to see you awake.” A feminine voice calls to Eleanor’s right. She resists the impulse to immediately turn and look, choosing instead to study the room.

There’s a shut double door made out of dark wood right in front of her. No windows, yet the room is lit up by a large fireplace on Eleanor’s left. The room itself has a mixing sort of east Asian and western feel to it, with a low table and a thick looking carpet in front of the fire. The armchair Eleanor’s in being the exception, she can tell it’s one of those spinning ones by just sitting in it. So, she spins in it, and is met by the only other person in the room sat on a couch with her legs crossed.

The woman is old, maybe in mid-eighties. Her grey hair is neatly tied back in a bun and she’s wearing a business suit with a two piece vest coat in black and matching pants. She looks like she’d have no trouble fitting in on the Wayne Enterprises board of directors. A laptop rests partially open on the low coffee table in front of them both. But what draws Eleanor’s attention is the sharp intellect behind the old woman’s steely grey eyes, like there’s a storm bubbling just beneath the surface. On top of that there’s also something strangely familiar about her, and it takes Eleanor’s brain a second to actually figure out what it is.

“Mrs. Kushan?” The name leaves her lips with barely contained disbelief.

As in Leandra Kushan, the next door neighbour her and Dick had in their Boston apartment while Eleanor was studying at MIT.

The old kind lady that had fed them on multiple occasions because they looked like _‘skin and bones, dearies’_. The same one they’d helped multiple times, moving furniture, go to the grocers, etc. because she’d looked so frail.

She doesn’t look at all frail now.

The old lady smiles, it’s a kind smile. Those ones you do with your whole face, showing off wrinkles and laugh lines. It feels similar to the smile Martha Kent had given Eleanor when the family had been invited over for Thanksgiving when she’d been twelve. Yet at the very same time, the kind of smile Ra’s did. The ones that made you feel like you where way in over your head, almost patronising.

“I can imagine it comes as quite the shock, and for that you have my apologies.”

That’s an understatement.

Questions swim in her head. Why? How? For how long? Yet at the same time it feels eerily blank, like she can’t even formulate where to start. Just how far back had this been going on?

“My real name is Leandra Aedan,” she continues, unbothered by Eleanor’s lack of words. “I am your great-grandmother.”

Her great-grandmother was behind her conditioning? That was… That _couldn’t_ be true. Eleanor had looked up the maternal side of her family both when she was a child and again when she’d spent time in the Himalayas. There are pictures of Alice—Eleanor’s mother, and Anya—Eleanor’s grandmother. And the paper trail ended there. Anya didn’t have any other family, she’d been living in Gotham her whole life, abandoned on the streets yet still managed to do well—by becoming a prominent lawyer. Obviously, Anya would have had a mother herself but, this woman?

It has to be some elaborate lie, right?

Some sort of stinking attempt to try and manipulate her again.

“You don’t believe me.” Leandra says, still smiling kindly.

Eleanor wets her lips, her throat feels dry and her voice cracks a bit when she speaks. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t.”

“Of course, I’m certain you feel betrayed and shocked.” Eleanor wants to snap that she has no right to tell her how she’s feeling, but her curiosity overcomes her anger. “But you understand, I had to mislead you a little. I needed to see what kind of woman you were becoming.”

“Why?”

“We’ll get to that in a little bit. First of all I want to make sure you know that all of your friends are quite safe.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for it?”

She leans forward and opens up a laptop on the table in front of her, then spins it around to show the screen. The room on it is barren except for a long bench, and it looks very much like a prison cell. All of the family that came here with her is there. Steph sat down with Cass checking over the wound on her neck. Damian pacing in the middle of the room and Dick and Jason having a very discrete conversation between themselves. They look relatively unharmed, but also missing gear. Just like Eleanor.

“Okay.” Eleanor nods, looking back over to Leandra. “What now?”

“Well, I would like to tell you about our family.”

When she doesn’t say anything, Leandra takes that as a cue to continue.

“I was very young when I had my girls, twins. Anya and Evelyn. As family tradition dictates, they were left alone after their fifth birthday. Anya was sent to Gotham, and Evelyn, she grew up in Rio.”

“You left two five year old girls on their own? _Why?_ ”

“Survival builds strong character. I grew up in similar fashion in Rome.”

“It’s barbaric.”

“It’s tradition, dear.” Leandra leans forward a bit, rapping her nails against her knee. “A test to make sure that the bloodline remains strong.”

Eleanor just shakes her head in disbelief and disgust, expecting a rise out of the other woman, yet Leandra just shrugs and continues.

“I was going to fetch them both on their eighteenth birthday, you see. Take them back into the fold, or not, had they failed. I had no problems with Evelyn, she had made it quite well for herself. Yet Anya was a different story, she had met someone, you see. A man named Malik, I’m sure you know of him with your little stint at Ra’s al Ghul’s palace.”

“My grandfather.”

“And an assassin to boot!” Leandra exclaims. “They had met while he was on assignment in Gotham, and she had fallen for him. Quite the love story.”

“But…?”

“Malik’s blood was weak.” For the first time Eleanor gets a glimpse of the _real_ person underneath the grandmotherly façade. Arrogance, with prejudice not far behind. “To begin with, he was League of Assassin affiliated. And perhaps he was good at what he did, but… tell me, do you know how the League recruits their assassins?”

Bruce had researched it before, quite extensively. In the League there were no requirements other than following orders. They took children and trained them, and they recruited adults who showed promise. As long as you were strong enough to survive the training, you were allowed to join. Perhaps Ra’s had other ways of getting people to follow him, but those were two of the most common ways.

“Yes.” Eleanor replies tightly.

“Malik belonged to those who joined as a young adult.” Leandra says. “He had no previous training.”

“And that made him weak?”

“He had no hardships before joining the League. He lived a rather luxurious life in Dubai.” With revulsion, Leandra shakes her head. “Before I could get my daughter away, she became pregnant with Alice. Tainting our bloodline. It was unforgivable.”

“You expect your daughter to follow rules she had no idea existed.” Eleanor snaps.

“Perhaps. But Anya failed her test none the less. I sent Evelyn to deal with it.”

“Deal with it.” Eleanor echoes. “You mean you sent her to kill her sister.”

“Yes.” There’s no regret in Leandra’s dark eyes. “But you see, Ra’s is a proud man. He had granted his assassin his favour and as such Alice’s life was to be untouched. And while I detest that ancient man-child, I had no interest in starting a war between our clans.”

“Alice grew up without a father.” Eleanor points out. “So you didn’t just sit back and relax.”

“Very good.” Leandra nods approvingly. “We came to an agreement. For involving himself in our business, Malik’s life was forfeit. Yet his legacy would continue. A fair trade, I would think.”

“You could have just left them alone.”

“Oh sweet child.” The smile is definitely patronising now. ”Alice’s creation was an insult to our honour. Doing nothing, would have… well we cannot allow our enemies to think we are weak, now could we?”

“Besides.” Leandra continues before Eleanor can voice her opinion of ‘Yes you could. Letting someone live isn’t weak, especially when their worst crime was falling in love’. “I have to admit, I was curious to see what would happen. I believed nothing would come of it of course. Alice was a weak child, raised with no hardship or strife, with everything all but served up to her. But then… to my astonishment, here you are Eleanor.”

“You’ve kept tabs on me my whole life?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. When I heard that Alice had a child with Bruce Wayne I could not have been more disappointed. Instead of strengthening our bloodline she had sullied it even more. Worse even, Mr Wayne was after all just a spoiled orphan billionaire.”

Eleanor doesn’t need to ask what changed, because it’s obvious. Batman changed it all.

“Then I happened upon some very interesting information. You see, the Gotham Gazette reported that Eleanor Wayne had gotten into a fight at her school against seventeen-year-olds while she herself was only eleven, and gotten out unscathed. It… _peaked_ my curiosity. So I started investigating. And would you know, Gotham’s darling daughter was moonlighting as the vigilante ‘Nightingale’.”

Anger curls in Eleanor’s gut. “And that made me interesting, did it?”

“Why of course. Strength is, after all, what we look for. And here, a daughter of my blood was being trained by none other than the Batman himself. There were so much opportunity there, and potential. Your potential.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’ve gone to all these lengths.”

“You mean the conditioning?” Leandra sighs. “Perhaps a bit… extreme, but we had to test you. And you provided the best opportunity to do so while in the Himalayas.”

Eleanor shifts forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So Ra’s did know.”

“Not quite. But Talia al Ghul may have had a subtle hand in it.”

“Talia? But why? She and I have never… I mean we don’t exactly get a long, but she’s not entirely a bad person.”

Not entirely, there was some honour in her actions. A bad mother perhaps, but she had also sent Damian to live in Gotham. So there had to be some good in her, right? And while she was ruthless and arrogant just as her father, she had loved Bruce in her own way.

“Jealousy, perhaps?” The smile turns mocking. “Talia believed herself to be your fathers one true love? Did she not? Your birth may have left a bitter taste for her.”

They’d never spoken about it during Eleanor’s time in Nanda Parbat. Talia had been harsh, yes, but not to the point of actual cruelty. Had Talia known this entire time? Eleanor had always thought that they had some kind of silent agreement—family was after all something she valued highly too. But then again, Talia was also vindictive if she wanted to be.

“So all of this, testing, prodding and watching me for the past five years. It was all to assess me? To—what, make me stronger?”

Leandra’s eyes sparkle’s with the flames across from them. “Indeed. A bit untraditional on our end, but the results are more than we could have dreamed of. Here you are, daughter of two powerful bloodlines, ready for the next step.”

If this woman thinks that Eleanor is actually _joining_ their demented cult, she’s out of her fucking mind. Still, it’s not like it would hurt to pretend to consider it a while longer, Eleanor was after all more likely to get answers if she played nice.

“And that is?”

Another smile curls up on the older woman’s lips. “All in due time, my dear.”

Her eyes flits back to the computer screen where her family is still being held captive, not much has changed. Cass has stopped fussing and Damian as chosen to pace in front of the bars like an angry tiger instead of in the middle of the room.

“Would you like to see them?” Leandra asks, drawing Eleanor’s attention back to her.

“I would.”

Leandra nods, and taps something on a small sleek device in her hand. Half a minute passes in awkward silence before the doors open behind Eleanor and the same girl that had ambushed her and Steph steps into the room. She gives Eleanor a try at a cheery grin that looks more aggressive than kind.

“What’s up?” She cocks her hips to one side, looking at Leandra.

“This is Nakano, she is your… I believe the term is ‘second cousin’.” The older woman says. “She’s been here for a couple of months now, surviving on her own in the streets of Tokyo.”

Nakano bows dramatically.

“She can take you down to your friends.”

“Family.” Eleanor corrects without thinking. “They are my family.”

For the first time Leandra’s carefully crafted mask slips up. Anger and disgust showing her true nature. “The young, angry one, perhaps. The other ones you have no blood relation to. But we can speak more of that later. Go, check on your friends.”

Eleanor wants to argue, god knows she wants to argue that point. Blood relation or no, they are all her family. And no dressed up cultist were going to tell her differently. Yet she bites her tongue and stands up, ignoring all of her instincts that tells her that she shouldn’t be leaving herself so open to attack with the two of them right here.

“So I’m not actually your big sister.” Eleanor says and Nakano just shrugs.

“Might as well be,” she waves to Leandra and starts leading Eleanor out of the room.

Eleanor concludes fairly quickly that they have to be underground. There are no windows in any of the bright white hallways that Nakano leads her through, it all looks high tech and sterile with cameras and motion sensor at every corner. Plenty of doors too, and more of those silent female only assassins drifting along the halls. All which stop to salute by putting their closed hands over their hearts when Nakano and Eleanor pass.

“What happened to them?” Eleanor speaks out loud.

Nakano shrugs. “The Silent Sisters are made to serve, they swore an oath to our family line a long time ago. Something about service until death, _blah blah._ Not very interesting. Or not as interesting as—”

“Where do they even come from?”

“I’m sure Mother will tell you more once you’re ready to know it.” Nakano bristles a little at the interruption. “But I have to tell you though, I’m super psyched that you’re finally here.”

“You’ve been waiting?”

“For ages.” Nakano nods, pushing another door open. “I’ve always known that I was made for more than what the Triads used me for. So when I was collected, well… This is it, this is where we are both meant to be.”

“You were a member of the Triad?”

“Mhmm,” Nakano nods. “Assassination stuff, by guise of prostitution.”

She says it so casually, like it’s obvious. Like it’s something everyone does, or goes through. How other kids might take up a sport in school, or after hours drama classes. _Like there’s nothing wrong with the statement._ Eleanor feels her eyebrows pull up, pity on behalf of the young girl blooming in her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

Nakano stops and tilts her head up, frowning. “Why? It made me stronger.”

“You don’t look older than sixteen.”

“I’m eighteen, thank you very much.”

“You’re still _young_. Look Nakano, no one should have to go through what you’ve been through. That’s—what happened to you was _wrong_.”

Nakano smiles again, wryly this time. “Mother told me you would have to do some training, but wow. I didn’t think you’d be this soft.”

Eleanor frowns. “Compassion isn’t a weakness.”

“If you say so.” She continues walking. “It’s not too far now.”

Eleanor does her best to mentally map out the place as they pass through another couple of doors. This one seemingly more guarded than the others, and descend some stairs before they come across something that looks more like a dungeon than prison holdings. She can hear the soft murmur of voices ahead, so different from the silent halls of the rest of the complex.

“We’re not so different, you know.” Nakano says then, her tone quiet. Then raises her eyes to gaze defiantly at Eleanor. “We were both raised to hurt people. We both have a higher purpose in life, and we both killed our mothers.”

_“What?”_ Eleanor almost chokes on her own spit.

“Your mother died in childbirth right?” There’s a dark look in her eyes. “I killed mine when she came to get me in Tokyo.”

“That’s…” She fumbles, feeling completely shocked. “That’s not the same thing. I didn’t… She, it—it wasn’t murder. I didn’t kill my mother.”

Nakano shrugs. “You where the direct result, if she hadn’t been pregnant it wouldn’t have happened right?”

Her head swims. “No it was.. uhm, it was postpartum bleeding. I—I, there wasn’t anything. I wasn’t even a day old.” She’d seen the death certificate, despite Bruce trying to keep it from her. No one had ever told her it was her fault. Bruce certainly hadn’t, Alfred had made sure she knew that it wasn’t. Some of the kids at the Academy had mentioned it to make her feel bad, and it had worked. She’d felt horrible afterwards, a crushing sort of survivors guilt that had never really faded completely. It was probably one of those things that drove her to help others, even though Eleanor knew that she wasn’t at fault—neither was the doctors, it was nothing anyone could have done in that situation.

Still it… having it shoved in her face like this…

She swallows thickly, pushing past Nakano into the cells properly.

“Five minutes!” Nakano shouts cheerily after her.

Damian is the first one that sees her, and as per usual gives her that same glowering look that Eleanor’s gotten used to. She steps up to the bars and grips it tightly with her hands. There are no direct locks, which would suggest an electronic switch somewhere. Then again, if they had locked it by mundane means there was no way it would keep her family in there for longer than a minute at most. She was sure that one or more of them had at least a couple of stashed lockpicks on them.

Eleanor sure did.

“Hey.” Dick steps up when he spots her, cowl still over his head. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She murmurs, aware that they’re being watched. “You guys?”

“Minor scrapes and bruises, nothing to slow us down.” He glances the way she came from and then back. “They took our gear though.”

“All of it?”

Dick nods, tapping against the bars with his gloved fingers in an unregular pattern, she doesn’t react to it, but the code they’ve been working on for the past month—ever since they found out they were compromised and isolated her, is clear enough.

“What do they want with you?” Jason asks, walking up next to Dick.

“It’s a long story, but the abridged version is, the woman leading this group is apparently my great-grandmother.”

Jay whistles, then looks as if he’s going to elaborate but Dick quickly steps back into the conversation.

“We can talk about that more later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor nods. “Yeah—I… I’m going to get you out of here, I swear.”

She’d never let them rot in a place like this.

Dick reaches out through the bars and grips the side of her neck, gloved thumb rubbing against her jaw. She leans into the touch, allowing herself—just for a moment to be comforted. “You got this.”

Eleanor squeezes his hand back with her own, and before the time is up, turns and leaves.

Nakano guides her silently this time, and Elenore gets the impression that maybe the young woman had seen more than Eleanor had wanted her to. She seems so deep in thought that she continues walking even when Eleanor stops by an open door.

The room inside looks like a dojo. Thin training mats laid out in the centre where a multitude of the Silent Sisters are currently sparring. None stop when Eleanor steps into the room, though she hears Nakano make a somewhat surprised noise behind her. The two of them that are fighting on the mat aren’t pulling any punches, it’s clear that they’ve been going at it for a while with bloodied fists and merciless tactics. What angers Eleanor the most though, is the fact that they are all _girls_. As in, they are no older than—at most, ten. And there’s no noise escaping them at all, except the occasional breathy whisper of air rushing through lungs.

“What are you—?” Nakano starts to say.

“What the hell is this?” Eleanor interrupts. She had foolishly assumed that it was consensual, that these warriors chose to mutilate themselves. It wasn’t unheard of. She’d thought it would be some kind of devotion thing, still weird yeah, but as an adult you can do what the hell you wanted to your own body right? The scar she’d seen on the adult she’d fought in the snow had looked healed. But not old enough to have been done to her as a child. This… this was beyond barbaric.

“A new initiative.” Nakano shrugs, not bothered.

“How the— _why_? They’re just _children_!” She’s aware that everyone in the room are watching her, even the two on the mat drop their combat stances.

Nakano rolls her eyes dramatically. “Chill, it’s voluntary.”

“The hell it is.” She gestures to the two in the middle, uncertainly just stood there, watching. It reminds her of how Cassandra had first been when they’d met. Unresponsive unless it was physical. Not being able to decide of her own because it had never been an option for her. It breaks her heart to see it again, and on such a large scale. “They’re kids! They don’t know what you’re doing to them!”

“We feed them.” The now becoming annoyingly familiar voice of Leandra says by the door. “We clothe them. We give them a home. In return they devote themselves to our cause. They ask for nothing.”

“You’re taking away their voices!” Eleanor snarls back, spinning on the spot.

The old woman doesn’t look at all threatened. “Because they have none. They swore themselves to our bloodline—”

“Yes, a long time ago. Nakano told me.”

Leandra’s sharp eyes turn to for a moment, glare at the younger. Before she schools her expression. “The point is, dear—”

“The fucking point is that this is barbaric. All of it. Your treatment of your daughters. How these children are all but _brainwashed_ into this. Nakano thinking that this is all _normal_.”

“Do _not_ interrupt me. Child.”

Eleanor shakes her head. “No. I’m done pretending. _You_ are vile. This entire clan or whatever you want to call it, is _vile._ You want me to join your disturbing little clubhouse? It’s _not_ going to happen.” There was a lot that Eleanor could handle, the things that she had seen on the streets of Gotham. But when it came down to the mistreatment of kids, those who depended on adults to choose for them—to try and do what is best for them, and then abused them like this? She just couldn’t keep quiet, she couldn’t just _stand by and do nothing._

Leandra just sighs, as if she’s dealing with a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Like Eleanor’s not a threat in her own right. Which, first of all—insulting. Secondly, very wrong.

“You better be careful, dear. Your beloved friends are still _here,_ remember? They can be dealt with should you not cooperate.”

Her jaw clenches. Teeth clacking when she closes her mouth, and presses her lips into a thin line.

Leandra’s ruffled feathers calm, a smug look overtaking the former annoyance in her eyes. “That’s better. So much fussing over something so inconsequential. Now come along, we have much to discuss.”

“We can talk here.” Eleanor refuses to move.

Once again Leandra’s eyes harden in face of her defiance.

“You said the Silent Sister’s serve ‘our’ bloodline right?” She forces herself to relax. “If they do, they wouldn’t betray you.”

“S’not like they can speak anyway.” Nakano snorts, leaning against the wall now. Her pose is lax, but her eyes speak otherwise. Like a hawk, watching its prey, waiting for one tiny mistake before it strikes.

“Very well.” Leandra still doesn’t look happy. “I am getting old, Eleanor. Once my time is up, we need a strong leader to keep returning us to our former glory.”

Yeah, like that will happen. Eleanor stares at the old woman like she’s out of her mind.

“You have proven yourself strong. Overcoming both the mental challenge and the physical one. Admittedly, you’ll still need some training for your more… _naïve_ traits. But otherwise you are exactly what we need.”

“And why would I _ever_ join you.”

Leandra sighs. “You see faults in our teachings, do you not? Why not take the rains and change it?”

There is a slight hint of logic behind those words, Eleanor can’t deny that.

“And what’s to stop me from ‘taking the rains’ and disbanding this? And get these girls the help they need.”

“I’ll kill you.” Nakano says casually, like they’re discussing the weather. “Simple as that.”

“Now, now.” Leandra smiles tersely. “Nakano, lets not start something you can’t finish.”

The younger girl huffs, the easy look on her face turning in to an actual hateful glare, although that’s not all. There’s also jealousy, Eleanor realises. Nakano is jealous of what was being offered. Maybe Leandra had offered the position to her should Eleanor fail. That wouldn’t be too outlandish of a thought for an organization that focuses on strength, which also raises another question.

“What is it, exactly, that you do?”

“Ah,” Leandra smiles. “Now that is the correct question.” She slowly walks over to a bench and sits down, exhaling slowly as if the movement itself had been difficult. “A long time ago we were a clan of assassins, similar to that of Ra’s League. But we were discarded. Tossed away like yesterdays garbage by a man that sired our bloodline.”

“You see,” Leandra continues. “This man was powerful, so powerful that he was feared amongst mortal men. He had many children, and all though some of them shared in his strength, they did not share his other _abilities._ The beginning of our particular bloodline started with a woman known as Ptolema. She was born in ancient Greece, during the time of heroes and the people there saw her as a demi-goddess, strong beyond normal mortal men and twice as fast. She brought kings to their knees and conquered cities in the name of her father. Yet she sought to impress him further, and thus created us. And for a while, she was successful. No-one could stand against the might of Ptolema’s father while her spies and assassins dealt with the opposition.”

“And what, he forgot about her?” Eleanor asks.

“Not Ptolema specifically, no. You see, she did not share her father’s greatest strength; his immortality.”

A shiver runs up Eleanor’s spine. Her mind races to the question as to who this person is. But there are only so many immortal men walking the earth. And that narrows down the list exponentially.

“And, as time went on, and the world changed, he forgot about the clan all together.”

“We didn’t forget about _him_ though.” Nakano hisses.

“We did not.” Leandra agrees. “One day, we will once again be strong enough to win back the eye of our ancestral father, or we will slay him once and for all.”

She already knows the answer, yet the question falls off her lips anyway. “Who is he?”

“Vandal Savage.”

Ah.

Eleanor doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry.

The idea that she’s somehow related—however distantly, to one of the world’s worst villains is… absurd. Right?

It’s _laughable._

~~It has to be, because the alternative is terrifying.~~

The silence in the room is broken by Eleanor’s small chuckle. A smile works it’s way up on her lips that she tries to hide by covering her mouth with her hand. The chuckle becomes another, until she’s laughing silently. Her shoulders shaking with the movement.

Leandra looks anything but amused.

“It’s a good story. I’m sure there’s just enough evidence gathered over the years to make you believe it. Hell, you almost had me.”

“You think this is a joke?!” Nakano snaps, finally showing something other than the gleeful murder-happy tool that she supposedly is. “You think this isn’t serious?!”

The smile falls off Eleanor’s lips. “It has to be a fucking joke. You want me to believe that you’re—that _I’m_ related to a world conquering madman? Seriously?”

“Whether you believe it or not. It is the truth.” Leandra calmly says. “And you are our next leader. Willing or not. We will be great once again.”

“Insane.” Eleanor mutters, turning her back to the two and crossing her arms over her chest. She stares at the girls in the room, the ones that more than likely had been taken from their homes, or off the streets to be forced into servitude and mutilated for ambitions of more mad people. The ones that meet her eyes immediately salute with their hands on their chests. But otherwise they stay motionless, like a program waiting for instructions. Like everything that made them unique had been sucked out of them and replaced by obedient robots.

Eleanor’s walking before she can register the movement, vaguely aware that Leandra is still talking—about greatness and strength, and how Eleanor was going to be a part of it. She ignores it as she approaches the two that had been fighting so hard their fists are bloodied and bruised. Eleanor crouches down in front of both of them, then slowly—as if to not startle a skittish animal, reaches out and gently takes one of their hands in hers. Inspecting the damage with the lightest of pressure. The girl doesn’t even wince, she just allows it to happen with a somewhat uncertain look. Like she doesn’t know what Eleanor wants.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.” She murmurs, wishing she had her gear so she could bandage the worst of the injuries. “I’ll make sure that you’re taken in by someone kind, someone that will care for you and someone that wont make you into a living weapon.”

Either she doesn’t understand Eleanor at all, or she doesn’t speak English. Either way, it makes Eleanor sigh sadly. She tucks some of the young girls dark brown hair behind her ear as gently as she can, offering a soft smile that just seem to make the girl more confused.

When Eleanor looks back over to Leandra, the old woman looks furious. Like she’s barely holding herself back from launching herself across the room to backhand Eleanor. Which, is a feat in itself, seeing how old she is.

“Enough.” Leandra declares. “This weakness ends now.”

And as if on cue, a small group of adult Silent Sisters walk in with Dick and Jason being dragged along. While Dick’s cowl is still up, and Jason’s domino still in place, they both look like they’ve been fighting. There’s a bruise on Jay’s cheek that’s looking darker and darker the longer she stares at it, and Dick’s lip is split. There are also thick collars around their necks, some sort of shocking mechanism maybe? She’d seen similar designs once before during a trafficking case back in Gotham. Only there hadn’t been enough voltage in those to kill anyone. These ones looks like they’ve got some extra power to them.

Both Dick and Jay are pushed to the floor harshly in front of Eleanor.

“What the hell?” She looks to Leandra who crosses her legs on the bench, that smug—I know more than you—air returning to her.

“A decision will be made.” The old crone declares. “The weak overworked boyfriend, or the broken fake brother. Choose.”

“Choose, what?!” Eleanor snaps. “Choose who lives and who dies? You are out of your fucking mind if—”

“I will not repeat myself, _child_. One of them dies today because of your obstinance. Either you pick, or both die. Now choose.”

Eleanor stares and for a second silence permeates the dojo. That is, before Jason’s chuckle breaks it. “Man, and here I thought my old man was fucked up. Guess you won the lottery eh, Ella?”

“Jay.” Eleanor sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“No really, this is some fucked up shit.”

“Silence!” Leandra demands.

“ _Silence!_ ” Jason mocks. “I bet she’s one of those that _loves_ the sound of her own voice.”

Dick sniggers, the grin looks somewhat odd with the cowl still covering most of his face. Yet Eleanor can’t help the twitch of her own lips. And that’s really all it takes before her entire mask falls apart and a wide grin sneaks its way up on her face. She shakes her head, trying to remember that they are still in a _very_ precarious situation. She crossing her arms and Leandra stands up very suddenly, seething.

“This is _not_ a—”

“Joke?” Dick cuts in. “No, I’ll agree with that. What you’ve done to these girls are appalling. But the fact that you think this was going to end in any way but us walking out of here—now that is funny.”

Leandra raises that small sleek remote in her hand, aims it to Dick and Jay, and for a split of a second Eleanor thinks that their plan hasn’t worked as Jason jerks a bit, like he’s just got an electric shock. But it’s only for a moment, and Leandra looks stunned at the turn of events. Pressing the button again, and again to no avail. Her face getting paler and paler with every push.

“Seriously!” Jason snaps. “What the hell, Replacement?”

_“I couldn’t resist.”_ Tim’s voice sounds smug when it echoes over some hidden loudspeaker. _“Think of it as payback for you know. Trying to murder me. Twice.”_

Jason grumbles under his breath, though Eleanor suspects there’s a part of him that’s proud of Tim.

“What have you done!?” Leandra snaps, and Eleanor uncrosses her arms at the same time as Dick and Jay’s collars both unlock, falling to the floor with a loud ‘thunk’ noise in the otherwise quiet room.

“Well,” Eleanor starts, time for their cards to be laid down on the table. “It’s simple really, we knew we’d never find you unless we canvased the mountain piece by piece. And that would in itself take months. So we set a trap.” Leandra has a look of pure shock on her face, and even Nakano seems intrigued enough that she’s not even moved from the lax position leant by the door.

“You—”

“Tricked you? Manipulated you? Doesn’t feel great, does it.” Eleanor glares, and maybe she shouldn’t feel so satisfied by the face that Leandra’s making. “By now Red Robin will have absolute control over your entire facility. So we can do this the hard way, or the easy way.”

As she’s talking both Dick and Jay shifts back up on their feet, and she knows by the look in Leandra’s eye that she understands the fact that even weapon-less and up against a greater number, they didn’t stand a chance against all three of them. Especially not when the prison cells have probably been unlocked and Cass, Steph and Damian are either on their way or in the process of sabotaging the facility itself.

And yeah, maybe it had been a gamble. Letting themselves be captured to find out more about their adversaries. But it hadn’t been a heat of the moment decision, they had drawn conclusions about the hideout. Since it hadn’t shown on any of their scans it had to have been high tech enough that Tim would have been able to remote hack it.

He only needed a way in, and _that_ was easy enough to hide in their suits.

So a gamble, yes. But a calculated one.

It irks her that while Leandra is glaring at her with a mixture of contempt, loathing and maybe slight confusion, beneath all of those layers, there is pride. Like it’s all been a game, and she’s just realised that she wasn’t holding all the cards. Yet can’t help but feel impressed by how totally _played_ she’d been.

“Well done.” Leandra says, moving her hands behind herself, and it’s such a Ra’s thing to do, that makes Eleanor think that maybe there’s more than rivalry between them. “With this ruse you have proved yet again that you’re more than capable of taking over this organization.”

“Keep dreaming.” Jason mutters.

Eleanor shakes her head. “The reason we could do all of this is because of how much you underestimate our bond. All you can see is bloodlines and violence, and it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to prove yourself to some immortal megalomaniac. We don’t have to fight.”

“And there, sweet child, is where you’re wrong. For all of your combat prowess, for your tactical knowhow. You are still so very naïve. Only the strong survive in this world, the weak either follow, or die.”

“Compassion does not equal naivety.”

“She doesn’t fucking want it.” Nakano says suddenly, pushing away from the wall. “So fuck her and her merry band of misfits. I can do what needs to be done. I’m stronger than she will ever be!”

“Silence, child!” Leandra snaps, her head whipping around and causing some strands of her grey hair to fall loose. “Tradition dictates that the oldest sister will take up the mantle. You know our rules.”

“I do.” Nakano sneers, she grabs a blade from one of the Silent Sisters and drags the metal along the top of her wrist guard. Then faces away from Leandra and points it at Eleanor. “By our traditions I can challenge the leader if I think her weak. And I do. Think you are weak.” She spits the words out like they’re poison.

“I don’t want to fight you, Nakano.” Eleanor replies, holding her hands up in front of her. “You don’t have to be a part of all of this. You don’t have to take any more orders from anyone.”

“It’s that easy, is it?” She mocks.

“I didn’t say—”

“No! Because you have no idea what I’ve been through! You have no idea what the Triad made me into. While you were eating five star meals off of silver platters, _I_ was starving on the streets of Tokyo. While you were being coddled and protected by your fake family, _I_ was being sold to the highest bidder!” The blade lowers to her side. For a moment she looks like a lost little girl, unsure of her place in the world, yet at the same time there’s still that underlaying jealousy. “All of my life I’ve been used for one purpose or another. To the Triad I was a weapon! To _you_ I’m just a broken girl you can try and fix!”

“Nakano—.” Eleanor tries, taking a hesitant step forward.

Her dark eyes snap back up, burning with fury that’s been supressed for years. “Shut up!”

Leandra’s interest seems to have renewed, like she’s never seen this side of Nakano. She raises her hand, and the rest of the adult Silent Sisters move to the side, while the little girls start to leave the room entirely.

“I believe that is a fair request.” She says, “if Eleanor wins, there will be no more fighting. If Nakano wins… well then she has proven herself fit for the role.”

Eleanor meets Dick’s gaze, even with the white lenses of the cowl she can still see the silent support from him. And while Nakano is a good fighter, Eleanor had beaten her before. Then again, she had her utility belt at that point. Perhaps Nakano had held back? It was unwise to show your enemy all of your moves after all.

Still, Eleanor doesn’t think anything good would come out of it. Fighting had been Nakano’s whole life, like Damian, like Cassandra. She didn’t need someone else to beat her down, what she needed was probably some therapy, and a gentler hand to guide all the rage she harboured.

“So?” Nakano snaps, readjusting her grip on the blade when Eleanor doesn’t reply.

“I don’t want to fight you.” She repeats.

A breath escapes the younger girl. “Guess there’s only one option then.” And before anyone can really react—before Eleanor can raise her hands to block the blade or respond with a defensive stance of her own, Nakano raises her blade and throws it.

Straight into Leandra’s heart.

The Silent Sisters act at once, leaping from where they’ve stood motionless against the wall. Indiscriminately attacking both ‘sides’, Jay and Dick fighting back to back. Nakano facing several of her own. All the while Leandra stares at the blade running through her chest, blood slowly trickling down her chin. Eleanor jumps into the fray only after a seconds hesitation, knocking one Sister down before she realises Eleanor’s there and managing to send another stumbling backwards with a kick to the back.

And while the Sisters are all well trained, they don’t have the same kind of experience. Nor—Eleanor thinks—would Leandra or whoever came before her, had allowed them to learn more than what she thought necessary.

It doesn’t take long for Eleanor to pull most of their attention to her, and while she does, Nakano takes the opportunity to disengage and move over to where Leandra has fallen.

“Hood!” Eleanor calls, and then Jason’s by her side taking another Sister out by punching her so hard in the face, she spits out teeth. Eleanor dodges another one and kicks her back into Jason’s brutal hand-to-hand technique—he’s holding back from any too lethal blows though, which is always nice to see.

When Eleanor gets over to Nakano and Leandra, the former has pulled the blade loose and takes a step in the direction of the door. “You can save her or try and stop me.” She says, flashing a small grin, with the bloodied sword still in her hand.

This time Eleanor doesn’t hesitate and quickly moves over to Leandra, rolling her over to her back and putting pressure on the chest wound. Desperately looking around for anything more substantial to minimize the bleeding.

“Catch you later, _onee-chan_.” Nakano smiles, giving Eleanor a two finger salute before she disappears out of the room.

“Red! Do they have a medical bay?” Eleanor shouts into the room, hoping that Tim will pick up her voice over the noise of combat.

_“Yes.”_ Tim replies blessedly. _“It’s on the floor below the one you’re on—shit, you won’t have time!”_

“What?”

The room shakes dangerously, like a small, localised earthquake just hit them.

_“Some sort of self-destruct sequence.”_ Tim curses again. _“I can’t deactivate it remotely, it’s built in to a reactor on the lower level.”_

“How long do we have?” Dick asks, restraining the last one of the Sisters.

“Child.” Leandra rasps suddenly, her cold hand covering Eleanor’s smearing blood all over the white of her gear. “You must… go.”

_“There is no timer.”_ Tim says, _“it’s tied to her heartbeat.”_

“So we keep her alive!” Eleanor stresses, grateful when Jason moves over with what looks like a ripped off piece of clothing from one of the Sisters. Eleanor accepts it and presses it hard down over the wound. “Is there a way out?”

_“Two ways. Heli-pad five levels up. A tunnel road three down. The pad has two helicopters, carriers. And the basement houses three trucks, enough to get everyone out.”_

“There—“ a bloodied chough interrupts Leandra. “No… time. You must… _leave._ ”

The door is flung open very suddenly by Steph, carrying all of their equipment. “Black Bat and Robin is getting the little girls out.” She says, starting to distribute everyone’s weapons. “That other girl—Nakano took the remaining weird creepy silent women and left—”

_“They’re taking the trucks.”_ Tim interrupts. _“With the self-destruct active there’s nothing I can do. The system is in the process of locking me out.”_

“Lets move!” Dick orders, helping Eleanor with a quick field dress for Leandra’s wounds. “We need to get all of these women out of here, now.”

There’s no arguing from anyone. Eleanor carefully picks Leandra up, despite the old woman’s weak protests. While Steph, Dick and Jay grab two of the silent women each, they don’t have time to be careful, so they drag them across the floor to the elevator that Eleanor suspects Tim is still fighting to be in control of.

They have to take more than one trip to get all of the women out, but soon enough the elevator is filled—probably over the recommended capacity, and gets them to the floor where two large helicopters are in the process of starting up. Cass and Damian both jump out to help with the remaining sisters until everyone’s aboard. For one horrible second Leandra goes so limp in Eleanor’s arm that she fears they’re too late. She lowers the woman to the floor and tries to find a pulse. Then, just as she finds it, Jason jabs a needle filled with adrenaline into her chest and Leandra convulses and cries out in pain.

Dick jumps into the one with all of the young girls. Damian, and Steph riding with him, they are the first one out when the shutter door opens and lets in a stream of snow and starlight. Jason takes the pilot seat of the other one with her, Cass, Leandra, and the unconscious Sisters.

And despite all the pain that Leandra has caused Eleanor, her family, and countless others. She cradles her, allowing her hand to be held when Leandra reaches for it. They won’t be able to save her. Eleanor knows that. Leandra has just lost too much blood. But at least she wont be alone in her last moments.

“I’m sorry.” Eleanor whispers.

Leandra’s breath is coming out shallow and raspy now, her lungs struggling to take in as much air as they can. “You… so _strong._ ”

Eleanor closes her eyes. Holding back harsh, unnecessary words. She listens to the helicopter blades spinning, trying to drown out the anger and sadness in her heart.

Cassandra kneels down next to her, a comforting hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. “Regret.” She whispers. “She is sorry.”

Saying nothing, Eleanor allows her little sister to pull her into a half hug, and Leandra takes a last gasping breath before going still. There is a moment of quiet, then they hear the explosion. Seconds pass and the helicopter rocks dangerously from the shockwave.

Then, it’s over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter out. But life can be a bit of a bitch sometimes. I'm doing better now though so the next chapter should be out soon-ish. (Studies are still a bitch, lmao)  
> Thanks for reading, leave a kudos if you liked it, and comment your favourite bit! (Mine is Jason's absolute sass, he learns it all from Alfred.)  
> Stay safe out there <3


	15. Like real people do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'll be the fire_   
>  _So I can light up_   
>  _An empty room_   
>  _Just for you_
> 
> “Miss Wayne!” He says a bit too enthusiastically, reaching out to shake her hand with both of his.  
> “Just Eleanor is fine, it’s nice to see you again Mr Drake.”

_"The explosion that rocked the Khentii Mountain range in northern Mongolia last week remains a mystery to the Mongolian government. While it has been confirmed from an extensive search that there were no casualties, several known terrorist organizations has laid claim to the explosion. A reason has yet to been given as to why the mountain range—famed for it’s rumour of housing the tomb of Genghis Khan, was targeted. The spokesperson for the Ministry of Nature, Environment and Tourism had this to say—”_

The video changes to a press conference where a woman is talking in rapt Mongolian that Eleanor has seen so many times she can basically recite it word by word now. She crosses her arms, watching the video again. Nothing has changed of course, nothing _will_ change, because there is no remaining evidence that there was anything there to begin with.

Not with that small _nuclear_ reactor going off. Taking almost half that particular mountainside with it.

A large donation had been made anonymously to assist in the clean-up. In addition, Lucius Fox had sent a dozen or so crates from the WayneTech department to help get rid of the residual fallout from what was essentially a nuke.

Eleanor rubs her hand across her face, pressing her knuckles against her lips to stop herself from grimacing.

They had been lucky.

No scratch that.

They’d been _insanely_ lucky.

The worst part is, the answers Eleanor had gotten wasn’t the answers she wanted. That old saying comes to mind, ‘be careful what you wish for’. With Leandra dying in Eleanor’s arms it was easy enough to get a DNA test to confirm that—yes, they were indeed related. It had taken longer to be able to confirm the other part of that story, that she was related to Vandal Savage.

It helped to have friends though. With a quick word to the fastest man alive, Wally had managed to track down a DNA sample confirmed to belong to Savage.

She doesn’t really want to check the results, even as it blinks at her on the un-opened tab on the screen. She doesn’t even know if the test would be able to confirm the relation—or deny it, as Eleanor hoped. After all, if the math was correct—if the information was correct, her mother’s bloodline started with Ptolema around the time when ancient Greece were in it’s prime, so two-thousand-five-hundred years ago, give or take.

And that was many, _many_ , generations.

What _doesn’t_ help on top of that is the fact that everyone, _every single one_ of the family still in Gotham are currently present, in the bunker. Waiting for the results.

Passive-aggressively Eleanor had mentioned that there was a city out there that's still in need of saving, only to have it either ignored or brushed off. They’re all too fucking nosey.

“Click it already.” Jason says from somewhere behind her, she’s pretty sure he’s cleaned his guns at least a two dozen times now.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Eleanor snaps back, she can _feel_ her hackles rising.

Jason, the bastard that he is, just smirks.

“Jay.” Dick sighs, he sounds exhausted. Not that Eleanor can blame him, he’d left Gotham two days ago to deal with a Justice League issue on the other side of the world and had only gotten back an hour ago. He’d had about half a dozen coffee cups just to stay awake for the DNA result, even though she had _told_ him that he should just go to bed and get some rest. (Okay so maybe that was a slight over exaggeration, at least three cups though.)

“You’re still awake?” Jason replies, still sounding amused. “Figured you’d fallen asleep standing up.”

Dick makes a noise that’s somewhere between a grunt and a huff, and while he’s walking over to her, rubs his eyes at least twice before blinking sleepily. He doesn’t say anything, yet the gentle touch of his fingers to the small of her back is a question in itself. Her grunt in reply is muffled by her own fingers.

“Want me to check for you?” He asks softly.

She makes another noise, this time shaking her head at the same time. Then takes a deep breath and feels ridiculous that she’s spent the past ten minutes just staring at the screen. It wouldn’t change anything. Positive or negative, she was still Eleanor Wayne, daughter of Bruce Wayne, girlfriend of Dick Grayson and big sister to Jason, Cass, and Tim. (And slightly reluctantly, Damian.) No matter who her ancestor is. She didn’t think that her family would shun her, neither would any of her friends.

It’s not that big of a deal. Yet her hand stops and hovers over the ‘show results’ button for just a split second. Then she presses it, and the results flag up on the main screen.

Inconclusive.

Of course.

It couldn’t be a simple yes or no.

Yet when she reads through the data there are similarities, certain DNA strands that match. Which might just be garbage, or it could point to relation.

“So I might be related to an evil mastermind Neanderthal or I might not.” Eleanor sighs out loud. “That’s great.”

“Does it matter?” Steph asks, pushing away from where she’d been leaning against the nearby wall with Tim. She throws her hands up in a ‘look at me’ sort of gesture. “Seriously, my dad is Cluemaster, and _I’m_ not running around all evil. In fact, he was the reason I even started doing this whole thing.”

“That’s—” Eleanor starts to say, unsure where she’s going with it.

Jason shrugs from where he’s sat, re-holstering his gun. “My dad was a gang member working for Two-Face.”

“Oh and my great-something grandfather is a Court of Owl’s assassin.” Dick hums, tilting his head like an adorable puppy. “You know, the one trying to convince me that being a Talon is a prestigious career choice.”

“Cain.” Cass simply says, “Shiva.”

“And the demon brat’s grandfather is Ra’s al Ghul.” Jason nods to Damian, who crosses his arms, glaring at anyone who’s willing to meet his gaze.

“The only person who doesn’t have an evil family member somewhere in their family line is Tim, and his dad is just the regular kind of asshole.” Steph adds, shrugging.

Tim snorts, lips twitching in amusement.

“Fine.” Eleanor holds her hands up, she can’t help but smile. “I get the point. Just because we’re related to evil bastards doesn’t mean we are.”

“Yeah,” Steph nods, pleased. “Well, except for him.” She points, though the good natured grin on her face is friendly enough that Jason only flips her off in return.

“You try to kill someone once, and they never get over it.” He mocks.

“Twice.” Tim corrects, next to him, Krypto barks, his tail wagging hard enough that it’s making that kind of metal against metal thumping sound. Tim happily reaches down to pet the super dog.

Eleanor looks back to the results screen, seeing herself reflected in the screen and she smiles before reaching over and turning it off.

~

Eleanor raps her knuckles against the door of the Drake household. Then removes the glasses she’d put on to protect her eyes against the July sun, a surprisingly dry and warm day for being Gotham. But she wasn’t complaining, far from it actually, she’d just left Cass and Steph after having a girls out afternoon. They’d ended up shopping and eating ice cream while the two younger had enthusiastically talked about their relative schools. Steph—taking summer classes to catch up, and while she’s finding it slightly difficult to balance her schoolwork and the vigilante stuff she swore up and down she wouldn’t have it any other way. With Alfred’s help they’d also looked into a dancing school for Cass, it was all really looking up.

But Eleanor still had a promise to uphold, one she made to Tim a while back.

She had texted beforehand, asked him if it was a good time to come by today. He’d been hesitant, but agreed, nonetheless.

Dana Winter’s opens the door with a friendly smile and her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. She looks like she’s just finished a workout pass or something similar.

“Yes? Can I help you?” Her tone is friendly enough that Eleanor just smiles back.

“I’m Eleanor Wayne, Tim invited me.”

“Oh? Oh!” Dana looks a bit bashful. “For his birthday?”

Well, kind of. They hadn’t spoken about it. Alfred and Dick were in the process of setting up a surprise party back at the bunker. Trying to keep Tim from knowing was almost impossible though. Eleanor was pretty certain that he already knew.

“Yeah.”

“Come on inside.” Dana steps aside to let her in. “I’ll let Tim know you’re here. Do you want anything? We’ve got lemonade in the fridge.”

“Thanks.” There’s a relief to step into the AC controlled environment of the house. “Just water is good.”

Dana leads her over to the living room, gesturing for her to sit down with another friendly smile. She disappears further into the house with a promise of being right back and Eleanor takes the opportunity to study the room she’s in. The furniture itself is expensive, the last time Eleanor had been in this house it had been when Jack Drake had been attacked by Captain Boomerang. She hadn’t quite had time to look around, but it’s distinctly less messy. Framed pictures of landscapes hangs on the walls and there’s precious few portraits. The only one that sticks out is the one over the mantlepiece. Clearly hand drawn, depicting Jack in a large armchair with Tim to his right and Dana to his left.

Eleanor gets the distinct feeling that Tim hadn’t enjoyed posing for it, because the smile on his face looks kind of wrong. Not at all like the natural one he did whenever he was caught off guard or genuinely found something funny.

The now seventeen-year-old himself comes down the stairs not soon after Eleanor’s sat down in the smaller of the two sofas, he pauses briefly in the archway when he sees her, and doesn’t say anything.

“Hey.” She smiles, “everything okay?”

That seems to snap him out of whatever it was he was thinking about. “Yeah, hey. Sorry. I guess I wasn’t expecting you to get here so soon.” He steps closer, fingers twitching in some sort of nervous gesture.

“We can call it off, Tim. It’s whenever _you_ are ready. No one else.”

For a second it looks like he’s going to take her up on the way out, but then he shakes his head. “No, you came all the way out here. Might as well get it over with.”

She wants to go over there and hug him. To tell him how brave she thinks he is and that she’ll do the best she can to talk to his father about what they’ve spoken about. But before she can both of them turn towards the rest of the house when they hear barely contained whispers, quickly followed by footsteps coming in their direction.

Jack Drake looks… exactly like Eleanor remembers really. Short brown hair and clean shaved face with a dark polo and dress shorts. Almost as if he’s just gotten home from some sort of golfing or other prestigious rich-man activity. His teeth are too white when he smiles, and the smile itself is one Eleanor immediately recognizes. The same kind that most of the Gotham socialite gave her whenever they realised she's a Wayne.

“Miss Wayne!” He says a bit too enthusiastically, reaching out to shake her hand with both of his.

“Just Eleanor is fine, it’s nice to see you again Mr Drake.”

Jack grin widens, and he finally stops shaking her hand. “Oh, call me Jack! Such a pleasure to have you here. Tim! Please bring our guest some fresh lemonade from the fridge.”

Dana looks like she’s about to object but Jack doesn’t even seem to notice it.

“Have you met my lovely wife? Dana, this is Eleanor Wayne. Eleanor, Dana, my beautiful wife.”

“We just met.” Dana smiles. ”It is nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so many great things about all the hard work you do for the city. The Foundations must be truly ecstatic to have you with them.”

“Well, mostly they just want me to cut ribbons and throw charity balls.” Eleanor feels herself slipping into her public persona. The one that loved the attention and spotlight, she crosses her legs out of habit. “But the Foundations do good work.”

“Of course!” Jack agrees, taking a seat in the armchair opposite her, then looks up to Tim. “Tim, son? The lemonade.”

“Right.” Tim murmurs, jerking into motion, he shoots Eleanor a look over his shoulder, one that if she’s honest she can’t quite read.

“I’ll help him.” Dana says smoothly, leaving the two of them in the room.

“So what brings you out here today?” Jack asks politely.

For a moment Eleanor debates whether she should jump straight into it or stall until Tim comes back. “Well, you remember Tim stayed with us while you were in the hospital?”

There’s a light bit of satisfaction to see the look of shock on Jack’s face at the bluntness of her words, but it’s quickly schooled into a friendly smile that is way too try hard. “Of course. I don’t think I could ever repay the kindness your father offered my son.”

The way he says it. _My son_. Like Tim is a part of the décor, or just another possession. Like he needs to remind both to himself and Eleanor that Tim is a Drake, not a Wayne.

“We are throwing a bit of a party for him later.” Eleanor keeps smiling, trying not to let her annoyance show.

“A party? What for?” Jack asks, and Eleanor _feels_ the smile on her face drop. Was he serious right now? Did he just admit to _forgetting_ his own son’s birthday?

“My birthday.” Tim replies from the door, holding a pitcher filled with iced water from what it looks like. Dana right behind him with a couple of classes on a platter and an absolute shocked look on her face. Shock that turns into anger, and is then quashed as she puts down the platter on the table with maybe a bit more force than necessary.

Eleanor knew there was something about Dana that she liked.

“Of course!” Jack is quick to change his tone. “Tim’s birthday. That is very nice of you.”

Tim’s sigh doesn’t make any sound and Eleanor’s really the only one that sees it, and apparently only Jack is oblivious about Dana’s sudden shift in mood. Her face remains passive, but her eyes are very expressive in their disappointment.

“There is something else too—thank you.” She accepts the glass of water from Dana with a courteous nod, takes a sip and waits for Jack to catch up in the conversation.

“Yes?”

Eleanor once again glances up at Tim, raising her eyebrows just a little in a silent question. There’s barely a heartbeats pause before Tim nods, but Jack seems to catch it anyway. His eyes going from that cheery socialite to more guarded.

When Jack had discovered that Tim was Robin, there had been the briefest moment where they all had assumed that it meant that Jack knew _all_ of their identities. But Tim had reassured them all that while his father had found his suit in a hidden compartment in his wardrobe closet—while he was tearing the room apart itself in a blatant display of invasion of privacy, he hadn’t found anything to implicate the rest of the family’s involvement. Needless to say, all of their worries where for naught—Tim is way too smart to leave proof like that lying around.

So she didn’t have to worry about the vigilante part being an issue, from Jack’s perspective she was just the rich, friendly neighbour who had helped Tim during a difficult time for him. So it’s not too outlandish for her to be involved now.

“A while back,” Eleanor starts slowly, choosing her words carefully. “Tim revealed something very personal to you.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Jack’s entire demeanour changes. Going from somewhat intrigued by her visit to wanting her to leave immediately. Eleanor continues unbothered, and Dana looks over at her with curious eyes.

“Now instead of talking to him about it, you asked him to leave.”

Jack’s brown eyes snap over to where Tim is refusing to look at anything but the wall on the other side of the room. Anger and indignancy written all over his face, as if to say, _‘what the hell did you tell her?!’_. Dana, however, just looks confused and concerned. Eleanor can’t say that she’s that surprised about it.

“Excuse me Miss Wayne, but I don’t believe this is any of your business.” Jack replies curtly.

“What happened?” Dana asks softly, her eyes shifting from Tim to Jack and then back again. “Jack?”

“It’s nothing.”

Eleanor bites back the immediate snappy comment she wants to throw in his face, and instead forces herself to calmly take another sip of the iced water.

“Tim?” Dana asks then, when her husband refuses to give her an answer. And Tim shrugs almost helplessly, glancing at Eleanor before he looks down at the glass in his hands. She reaches over to where he’s sat and squeezes his shoulder briefly to let him know that she’s there for him. When he looks up again there’s more determination than resignation in his eyes.

“I’m—”

“Timothy.” Jack barks out his name in a low warning tone.

“No.” Tim shakes his head. “You don’t want to accept it, that’s your problem dad. But.. But I don’t want to hide who I am just because of how narrowminded you are.”

Seemingly remembering that there’s an audience, Jack shifts in his seat, his voice becoming gentler. “We already talked about this, son.”

“No we didn’t. You talked, like always. And like always, you didn’t listen to what I had to say, or maybe you did and then twisted it to whatever it was you want to believe about me. But I’m not like you dad.”

“Tim.”

Tim turns to Dana. “I’m gay.”

Dana blinks in surprise, her mouth falling open, then she smiles and sets her own glass down on the table in front of them before enveloping Tim in a hug. “Thank you for telling me, hon.” She reaches up and tucks some of Tim’s hair way from his face. She smiles again, warm and kind.

“We talked about this.” Jack repeats. “Tim you are not—”

“Shut up Jack!” Dana snaps then, turning around to face her husband. “I cannot believe you! How could you possibly—I never imagined that you’d act like _this_ to your son! He is the sweetest boy there is and you—! Unbelievable.”

“Dana, this can wait until later. We have—” Jack tries.

“Absolutely not. This is unacceptable. Apologize to your son.”

“Dana—”

“Now!” Dana demands and Eleanor has to admit, she doesn’t really want to get on Dana's bad side. She didn’t think that the older woman could get this angry, all the things that Tim had told her about his stepmother was that she was kind and gentle. But it’s good to know that she could be fiercely protective too. And judging by Tim’s expression, he’s never seen her like this before either.

Jack’s jaw clenches as if it’s physically hurting him to even think about apologizing. “Tim, you know that I love you son. But this—this… _homosexual_ nonsense—"

“I can’t believe you!” Dana repeats standing up, “How can you even...? I am so angry with you right now."

"Dana..." Jack tries again.

"No. I—I think I’m going to stay over at my sisters place in Metropolis for a while, if _this_ is how you're going to treat your son. Tim you are more than welcome to come with me if you like.” She adds the last bit in a much gentler tone.

Tim ducks his head a bit, he’s smiling but it’s not quite reaching his eyes. “Thank you Dana, but I can’t leave Gotham.”

“Of course.” She hugs him again, then looks up at Eleanor. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Eleanor can only nod before Dana goes to leave and Jack gets half out of his chair before Dana spits out, “do not follow me right now, Jackson.” With so much venom that Jack actually sits back down, stunned.

An awkward silence stretches across the room when Dana’s footsteps disappears upstairs. Tim keeps his eyes on his own hands in his lap and Eleanor shifts ever so slightly in her seat, immediately drawing Jack’s ire.

“This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t spent so long with your family.” He spits out, the former friendliness gone from his tone.

“Dad.” Tim tries.

Jack ignores him. “I knew that spending so much time with… that—that… With Bruce’s first charity case—”

“Be very, _very_ careful what you say next Mr Drake.” Eleanor interrupts. “I will remind you of the precarious situation you are already in. You do not want to make me your enemy.”

“Is that a threat?”

Eleanor stares coldly at him. “No. If I threaten you, you will know.”

She can see the slight hesitation then, like he’s realised how deep in shit he actually is. His shoulders slump, and he looks over to his son, who’s raised his head to watch the two of them. Even though Tim is good at hiding it, she can also see the anger hiding in his eyes.

“Son.” Jack starts, leaning forward. “If you do this… It’ll—it will be the end of the Drake family line.”

“Do this…?” Tim echoes, he stares at his father like Jack’s from another planet. “It’s not a _choice,_ dad. I didn’t wake up one day and decide that I prefer guys over girls.”

It’s clear in Jack’s eyes that he doesn’t believe it. It’s one of those patronising sort of looks, he might as well be saying, _‘oh how wrong you are’,_ out loud.

“Tim—”

“Did you decide on your attractions?” Eleanor interrupts, thinking that maybe, just maybe they could get through to him with logic. "Did you decide that you only liked women?"

Jack however just stares at her like she’s crazy, he doesn’t reply either. Instead he shuffles forward and reaches out towards Tim, placing his hand on top of Tim’s folded ones.

“We can speak more about this later, okay? I think it’s best if your friend leaves now.”

“My sister.” Tim says, and Eleanor’s heart swells. “And—”

“I am your family Timothy.” Jack insists, and Tim withdraws his hands and moves away from his father.

“You—” Tim takes a deeps breath. “I’ve spent more time at Wayne manor feeling like that’s a home than this place ever did. You might be my biological father, but Bruce has been—” Tim stops short, his teeth clicking together as he grimaces.

At first Jack looks shocked, then he looks angry. “I raised you better than this Tim.”

“You didn’t raise me at all!” Tim finally snaps. “You spent months— _months_ away travelling the world with mom instead of taking care of me. I went out into Gotham taking pictures of Batman for years without your knowledge! You only started caring about me when it became convenient for you!”

“Tim—”

“No just… just stop, okay? Just stop trying. All you’ve done is mess with my life and that’s why it was so easy to emancipate myself. I’m done. Okay? I’m leaving. Do you get that? The only reason I entertained this idea is because Eleanor convinced me that you might change your mind if you tried to understand me. But you’re not even trying. You’ve _never_ tried.”

Jack stares, gobsmacked when Tim finishes speaking.

Eleanor takes Tim’s hand in hers, squeezing it gently in support. His breath is elevated, there’s a flush to his cheeks from anger and his eyes look wet. Yet somehow Tim looks lighter than Eleanor has ever seen him look before. Like a massive weight has just been lifted off his shoulders.

She wonders how long he’s had those words running through his head. How long he’s wanted to shout them at the top of his lungs so that his father would take a moment and see Tim for who he truly is.

“You can’t do this.” Jack says then almost to himself. “You’re not eighteen yet.”

“Actually.” Eleanor cuts in before Jack can dig a deeper hole (if that’s actually possible). “New Jersey laws state that if someone over the age of sixteen can financially support themselves and live away from their parents they can get legally emancipated without said parents’ permission.”

“You still live at home!”

Tim sighs. “I don’t actually. And I haven’t for a while now. So why don’t you do what you do best, and just ignore it.”

Jack’s face is so red in anger that Eleanor wonders if he’s possibly going to have a heart attack.

“I will tell everyone. If you don’t stop this nonsense right now. Timothy, I will phone the Gazette right now and tell them!”

Eleanor can't really believe that he's actually threatening with exposing his secret. Was he really that stupid? Could he not see what that would do to not only Tim, but to everyone that Tim knew?

“Then you’ll kill me.” Tim replies quietly. “You’ll put Dana in danger, and all of my friends. And yourself." He shakes his head. "Why can’t you just let me go?”

“You are my son.” Jack tries weakly.

Tim doesn’t even react to it. He stands, straightening out his tee, a very detached look on his face.

“I haven’t been your son in years.”

They don’t do much more speaking after that. Jack slumps in his seat in defeat, staring blindly ahead of himself like he’s lost in his own head and Tim takes the opportunity to go upstairs and gather his things. When Dana comes back down with a bag packed of her own she takes one look at Jack and shakes her head. Like she too could see him clearly for the first time in her life.

Eleanor offers to drive Dana to the train station, but the older woman just shakes her head saying instead that she’s taking the bus downtown, and once they’ve said their goodbyes—Dana insists Tim call her if he needs anything _(“Anything at all sweetheart, I know I’m not your mother, but I want to be here for you if that's okay?”)_ in which she gets a small nod and a tight hug, they leave the Drake household behind.

Tim stares out the window as they drive, and Eleanor finds herself looking over to him several times.

“You okay?”

For a second he doesn’t answer, watching the trees and hills slowly give way to concrete as they turn on to the main road leading back to the city. “I think so. It… I mean it all still sucks, but… it’s been a long time coming too.”

“I’m proud of you, baby bird.”

She sees Tim smile in the reflection of the window.

“You wanna get some ice cream?”

He chuckles. “What about the party?”

“It’s _supposed_ to be a secret.” She says airily, winking at him from the corner of her eye.

“Yeah.” Tim hums. “If only I didn’t already know.”

“Ice cream it is.”

Later when they return to the penthouse and the family is all there, jumping out and shouting surprise at the top of their lungs. Tim does act surprised (it doesn’t matter that everyone knows that it's just an act) and they all have a good time eating the home baked strawberry cake that Jason and Alfred made and then playing board games. It does inevitably start a fight though as Jason is very good at getting a rise out of people and Damian’s fuse is incredibly short, and honestly Eleanor has no idea _where_ the knife came from, but Alfred is there to patiently break the fight up before a med kit is needed.

_(“Watch out for tater-tots over here, he might bite you.”_

_“I told you to stop calling me that, Todd!”_

_“Please don’t rile him up Jaybird.”_

_“You can’t tell me you don’t have bite marks on your ankles, Dick.”)_

Eleanor’s gift to Tim is a photo album, only one page at the front filled with pictures that—with some help from Barbara, Eleanor had managed to get her hands on from their cut short road trip. Her favourite is the one of the two of them together, posing in front of the Grand Canyon, though there are many good ones that she hopes Tim will develop in his own time and then fill it up. They end the night with a movie, surprisingly no one disagrees to watching giant monsters fighting giant robots in Pacific Rim. And popcorn is passed around without anyone starting a food fight.

Damian is somehow the first one the fall asleep, curled up in a corner resting against the armrest. Herself and Dick sat right next to him. Cass manages to hog the extremely comfortable armchair all to herself (no, really Eleanor’s fallen asleep in that thing so many times waiting for people to get back home from patrol.) While Tim is squeezed in between Steph and Jay. Jason doesn’t even seem to mind it when Tim dozes off on his shoulder, and Steph like the troll she is, grabs a bunch of pictures of Tim drooling on Jason’s hoodie.

Eleanor squeezes Dick’s hand in hers where it’s laying on top of his thigh before turning up and accepting the soft kiss he gives her and then resting her own head against his shoulder.

She thinks about Bruce, wonders what he would say seeing them all like this. Acting like a proper family for once. He would be happy about it right? He would have peace knowing that they were all in this together, that they have each other’s backs. And that nothing would tear them apart.

Maybe they would be okay after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a quick chapter? I just couldn't really put it down once I started writing it.  
> And while it's the end of this fic, it's not the end for the series so stay tuned!  
> Hope you guys enjoyed this rollercoaster ride just as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> Stay safe and I'll see you in the next one! <3 :)


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